The Keepers of Wisdom
by Annamia
Summary: Four students from four different houses are brought together to hear the stories of the founding of Hogwarts. Eventual slash and femslash. HPDM, PPSB, RRHH, GGSS. Discontinued. New version in the works.
1. Missive

_Well, I promised myself I wouldn't post this until I had a plot, but I'm breaking my own rule. I will try very hard not to let this one die, honestly! I don't know how long it will be, but I _do _know that it won't be all from Padma's POV and that there will indeed be lots of slash (and femslash, so be warned.) Enjoy!_

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1: missive

For six years, Padma Patil had been the brightest witch in Ravenclaw. Not in the entire school – no, that was pleasure was reserved for Hermione Granger – but certainly in Ravenclaw. It was widely accepted that her name would one day be placed on the plaque in the common room, the one bearing the names of those students judged worthy enough by Ravenclaw standards, stretching in an unbroken chain all the way back to Rowena Ravenclaw herself. She was the sixth year prefect and provider of homework help for most of the rest of Ravenclaw House. She was almost completely content.

She sat now in the common room, looking against at the note she had received earlier. It was an invitation to some kind o exclusive study society, nothing out of the ordinary. Padma received and rejected such things. She had long ago perfected a courteous but firm refusal formula, which she now prepared to write. But as she bent down to snag a sheet of parchment, she caught the glimmer of a _very_ well cast series of illusions. Intrigued, she looked more closely at the note. Sure enough, the formulaic invitation was no more than a disguise. She picked up her wand and began to methodically and skillfully unravel the layers. When she finally reached the last of them, she hesitated momentarily. What is it was some kind of trap? Then she shook her head impatiently. Who would want to trap _her_? _She_ was no Harry Potter! She was simply Padma Patil, the second brightest witch of her generation.

With a slightly impatient sigh, she undid the last of the illusions. She studied the missive that was now revealed.

_Miss Patil,_

_It is my duty to inform you that you have been selected as one of the four Keepers of Knowledge. You are expected to report to the Headmaster's office this evening promptly at 8:30 pm._

The note was unsigned and the writing was unfamiliar. Padma reread it, trying to ignore the thrill of mystery trickling through her. She forced herself to think logically, reminding herself that she had a twin who was impetuous enough for both of them. Keeping that in mind, she rose and moved to the pedestal in one corner of the room. The library in the Ravenclaw common room was extensive, and some ingenious person had long ago installed a cataloguing system. Now, all one had to do was ask and the books one needed would come.

Padma placed one had on the pedestal and spoke, her voce quiet and controlled. "The Keepers of Knowledge." She waited. Nothing came. She hadn't really been expecting it. After all, why go to all the trouble of putting such complex security measures on the note if it was something that anyone could just look up? She frowned slightly. She hated admitting defeat, and her apparent inability to discover anything was most definitely a defeat. She left the pedestal slowly, then doubled back and plucked a battered copy of _Hogwarts: a History_ off the shelf. It never hurt to try, after al.

She returned to her seat, book in hand, and carefully opened it. She had read it many times, but she began any the beginning anyway, carefully scanning the pages for the key words she wanted. This was a skill se had learned long ago, and she was once again grateful that her mother had taken the time to teach it to her.

She had almost finished the book when she found it. A small paragraph tucked in between two longer ones.

_Some claim there is another secret society at Hogwarts, one completely unrelated to any others and stretching back far further. In fact, there are those who would go so far as to say that it goes all the way back to the founders themselves. Such claims are, however, unproven. Little is known about this group, if it even exists at all. If the stories are true, the members of this society, documented as either the Pillars of Hogwarts or the Keepers of Knowledge, are in possession of knowledge not even scholars possess. There are those who even go so far as to speculate that this knowledge has the power to spell doom for Hogwarts and even our entire society. Needless to say, these claims are unfounded and most likely untrue."_

Padma stared at the passage, doing her best to internalize the words. Could it be true? Was this just someone's idea of a very bad joke? If it was, she certainly wasn't laughing. She didn't realize that she was clutching the book with whitened knuckles until a familiar voice asked, "Padma?"

She looked up into the wide eyes of her twin, so similar and yet so different from her own. She unclenched her hands, making sure that the book was undamaged. Without a word, she passed both the book and the note to her sister, waiting for Parvati to take it. When Parvati looked up, her eyes were sparkling with mischievous excitement. "Are you going to go?" she asked.

Padma sighed. "I don't know," she admitted. "Should I?"

She knew her sister's answer even before Parvati opened her mouth. "Of course you should go! Why wouldn't you?"

Padma shrugged. "It could be a joke," she reminded Parvati.

"Or it could be real," Parvati countered. "You'll never know unless you look."

"True," Padma admitted slowly. Parvati grinned, sensing a victory close at hand.

"Come on darling," she wheedled. "Do it for me!"

Padma rolled her eyes. "Cut it out Parvati," she said.

"Say you'll go!" Parvati insisted.

"What will you do to me if I don't?" Padma asked warily.

Parvati considered this, a crafty look sneaking onto her face. "I'll invite you next time Lavender and I go to Hogsmeade."

Padma winced, correctly interpreting this as, 'I'll drag you kicking and screaming and force you to endure what is almost certainly considered cruel and unusual punishment.' On the whole, Padma would rather avoid that fate. "All right, I'll go." Stubbornness compelled her to add, "But _you_, my dear, will pay if this is nothing more than a joke."

Parvati flashed a dazzling smile. "Wonderful!" she gushed. She rose gracefully, tugging here and there until her robes hung perfectly once again. "I'll see you at dinner," she promised. Padma didn't reply. Parvati eyed her for a moment, then floated across the common room and out the door. Padma watched her go, wishing for a moment that she were as beautiful as her sister. Then she remembered the long hours Parvati put into being beautiful and reconsidered. She had other things to spend her time on.

She glanced at the clock on the wall. 7 o'clock. She had an hour and a half before she had to report to Professor Dumbledore's office. She wasn't hungry – nervous anticipation was just the thing to deaden hunger pains – and she had homework she could be doing. She closed her eyes, concentrated, and silently summoned her Arithmancy textbook. It zoomed into her hands and she opened it to the unit they were currently studying. She picked up a piece of parchment from the ever-present pile on the large table in the middle of the common room and began to solve equations neatly and precisely. She liked Arithmancy and the fact that she was good at it made her try that much harder.

Eventually, she had no more work to do. She checked each of her answers several times, boxed them in with swift strokes of her quill, and wrote her full name at the top of the parchment. Glancing up, she saw that it was now 8 o'clock. 30 minutes left. She looked around for something else to do. Luna Lovegood's blond head caught her eye. Despite herself, Padma leaned forward, idly listening as Luna chattered.

"…and they're very rare! My father says that there are only a few hundred unicorn people left in the world."

"Where do they live?" That was first year Kristy Zula. Clearly she didn't know better than to egg Luna on.

"In the steppes," Luna said airily. "And parts of China. The legends say that they bring good luck to people. Their horns can heal any wound and they can purify water."

"So how are they different from normal unicorns?" Kristy pressed.

"They walk on two legs," Luna answered promptly. "They look like us, but they have long silvery hair and flatter teeth. And they have horns, of course."

Padma rolled her eyes and stopped listening. Clearly Luna was just as odd this year as ever. She looked at the clock again. 8:17. she gave up and banished her textbook back to its place by the fire. She rolled up her homework, slipped it into her book bag, and stood, folding the note carefully and putting it into her pocket. She glanced once more at Luna, shrugged, and walked briskly towards the door.

Once in the hall, she began to make her way towards Professor Dumbledore's office. She deliberately walked slowly, not wanting to be ridiculously early. Even so, she arrived in front of the gargoyle with 5 minutes to spare. She let her book bag fall to the ground, fishing out a brand new copy of Jane Austen's _Pride and Prejudice_ and plunging into their world.

Five pages later, a noise drew her back to the present. A fair haired girl slowed to a halt, looking at Padma with bright blue eyes.

"Hello Padma," Susan Bones said. "Did you get one too?"

Padma nodded. Susan was a casual friend, her partner in Arithmancy, one of the two people in her year who could keep up with Padma academically.

"What do you think?" Susan asked.

Padma shrugged. "I don't know." She explained about the paragraph in_Hogwarts: a History_.

Susan was quiet for a long moment after Padma had finished. Before she could say anything, the sound of raised voices came from the hallway. Padma winced, easily recognizing Draco Malfoy's cultured drawl and Harry Potter's enraged roar.

"Well," Susan said, her calm seemingly unruffled, "the note _did_ say there would be four of us."

Padma groaned. "Why did it have to be _them_?" she demanded. "Surely Gryffindor and Slytherin have other people to represent them!"

Susan shrugged. "Apparently not."

The bickering pair burst into view. Padma didn't even know what they were shouting about this time, but it had both of them completely oblivious to anything else.

"Shut_up_ about my parents, Malfoy!" Harry roared. His face was red and his hands were balled into fists at his sides.

Malfoy sneered. "I'm only pointing out a fact."

Susan stepped forward, drawing attention to herself. Padma winced at that. She supposed Susan only wanted to stop them before they got to throwing curses around along with their words, but it was still an extremely risky thing to do.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Malfoy asked, eyeing her with distaste.

"I was invited," she said, her calm unphased by his hostility. "As were you."

Malfoy grimaced. "What a shame," he drawled. "With you and Potter both, I could almost be slumming."

Padma growled, anger coursing through her. "Shut _up_!" she hissed. Her hand twitched towards her wand. Malfoy took a step back, eyeing her warily. Padma knew quite well that she was more talented than he was, and he apparently did too.

"What's it to you?" he snarled.

"Susan's my friend," Padma told him. "Apologize to her!"

Malfoy's face turned an ugly crimson. "_What_ did you say?' he spluttered.

"Apologize to her," Padma repeated, drawing her wand all the way. His face drained of blood and he looked form her face to her wand with visible apprehension. Finally, he glowered and her and turned to Susan, completely ignoring Harry.

"I apologize," he said stiffly. "It was wrong of me to say such things." He turned his glare back towards Padma. His eyes were sparkling with rage and humiliation. "Satisfied?" he ground out through clenched teeth.

Padma nodded, the exhilaration of victory still flooding through her. She pulled out her watch and glanced at it. 8:3-. She turned to look at the gargoyle masking the entrance to the Headmaster's Office just as it ground into motion. Padma jumped, emitting a very audible squeak. Malfoy laughed. Harry glared at him.

Padma took a deep breath and stepped towards the moving staircase. Susan followed, the boys half a step behind.

"You shouldn't have done that," Susan muttered as they rode. "You've made him into an enemy."

Padma sighed. "I know. He just makes me so _angry_!"

Susan nodded, her expression thoughtful. "You know," she said slowly, "sometimes I wonder…" she trailed off, lost in thought.

"What?" Padma asked, when no more seemed to be forthcoming.

Susan shook her head. "Never mind,' she said.

Padma might have pressed her friend further, but they had reached the end of the staircase and the sight of the door leading to Professor Dumbledore's office was enough to drive all the questions from her mind. She paused, suddenly apprehensive.

"Well?" Malfoy's acid etched drawl brought her out of her momentary hesitation. She might wonder exactly was they were all doing here, she might even wonder if it was all a trap, but there was not way she was going to let _him_ see that. She knocked on the door.

It swung open silently, exposing on the of the most fascinating rooms Padma had ever seen. It was stuffed almost to bursting with curios and gadgets, many of which whirled and popped rather alarmingly. Four overstuffed chairs sat in a half circle by the roaring fire, and a golden stand was shoved into the opposite corner. A molten red phoenix dozed on it, its head tucked neatly beneath a wing. Yet, despite the mass of items, the room managed to appear cozy, not cluttered. Padma looked around, eyes wide. She caught the telltale silvery-blue gleam of a pensieve, carefully balanced in a half open cupboard. Above hung a blood-encrusted sword, the giant ruby gleaming enticingly from the pommel.

"Do take a seat." Padma jumped, turning around so fast she almost ran into Susan. Professor Dumbledore stood there, her blue eyes surveying them calmly from under half-moon spectacles.

"Professor, what…?" Harry began, but Professor Dumbledore cut hi off with a gentle shake of his head.

"All in good time, Harry. All in good time," he said, smiling slightly. He gestured one more towards the chairs. The four moved towards them, Harry and Malfoy each claiming an end, only realizing too late that this put them directly across from each other. They grimaced and looked away. Padma found herself between Harry and Susan, facing directly into the fire.

"That was brilliant earlier," Harry murmured, leaning towards her.

"It was stupid," Padma muttered back.

"He deserved it," Harry insisted. He shot a vicious glare at Malfoy. "He's never going to be able to live this down!"

Padma sighed, knowing that he was probably right.

Dumbledore wanted to the center of their half circle, seating himself on a stool with his back to the fire. The phoenix, apparently fully awake now, glided over and landed perched on his knee. Dumbledore stroked its back idly as he looked at each of their faces in turn. The silence stretched on, becoming more and more uncomfortable by the moment.

Finally, Padma had to break the silence. "Professor, are the stories true?"

Everyone turned to look at her. Dumbledore nodded approvingly. "You've done your homework, Miss Patil. I expected no less of you."

Padma looked down at her hands to avoid Malfoy's sneer.

"How much do you know about the founders of Hogwarts?"

Padma blinked at the apparent change of topic. Before she could answer, Harry spoke up. "They built Hogwarts and taught there for years. Slytherin," here he paused to glare meaningfully at Malfoy, "didn't want to teach non purebloods, and he left after a while."

"Prejudiced, as always," Malfoy muttered. "Slytherin had more reasons for leaving than just that."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Then _you_ tell the story, if you know so much about it."

"Fine." Malfoy glared at them all. "Slytherin was an honorable man, but one… matter was slightly beyond his control. He recognized this, and the issue of which students to accept only hurried his decision."

Harry frowned. "In English, Malfoy. I don't speak snobbish git."

Malfoy's fists clenched. "He fell in love," he said bluntly. "With Gryffindor."

Padma's mouth fell open in shock as she tried to comprehend what Malfoy was saying. Harry was already on his feet, advancing on Malfoy, his face murderous. "Gryffindor. Was. _Not_. Gay!" he roared, sparks flying from his wand to land on the carpet, where they smoldered softly until Dumbledore glanced at them.

"I never said the love was returned," Malfoy pointed out. "Which only goes to confirm the fact that Gryffindors have no taste."

Padma found her voice then. "How do you know all this?" she demanded, staring at Malfoy.

He eyed her scornfully. "House history," he said. "Surely Ravenclaw has some of its own."

"Of course we do," Padma snapped. "But that's different." She realized suddenly what she'd said and blushed. She glanced apologetically at Susan, who only shrugged.

"Of course it is," Malfoy sneered. "Because you of the eagle are so high above the rest of us you couldn't expect us to be anywhere near the same level. Well, sorry to disappoint you, but Slytherin's history is just as rich and well documented as your own."

Harry, who still hadn't returned to his seat, snorted loudly. Malfoy eyed him malevolently. "Do you have something to add, Potter?" he asked icily.

Harry opened his mouth to retaliate, but Susan beat him to it. "Instead of bickering pointlessly, why don't we find out why we're here."

Both Malfoy and Harry turned to glower at her. Padma nodded. "She's right. She turned to Professor Dumbledore, the question clear on her face.

"Please sit down Harry," Dumbledore said. Still scowling, Harry sat. "Now, there _is_ a reason why I summoned you all here. Miss Patil, what exactly did you discover about the Keepers of Knowledge."

Padma shrugged. "Not much," she admitted. "Just that they're supposed to know things no one else does, things that, apparently, could spell the doom of Hogwarts and the wizarding world."

The corners of Dumbledore's mouth turned up in a half smile. "An essentially correct, if someone apocalyptic description. In reality, the Keepers of Knowledge are no more than historians, learning and recalling the histories that others have forgotten."

Susan leaned forward, intrigued. Like the ancient bards?"

"Precisely," Professor Dumbledore said in approval.

"And we're the next generation."

"Exactly. Ten points to Hufflepuff."

Malfoy sneered at that. Padma glared at him. Dumbledore pretended not to notice.

"What do we have to do, exactly?" Harry asked, his eyes narrowing as he studied Dumbledore.

Dumbledore smiled benignly. "Nothing at all," he promised. "You only need to learn and remember the histories."

Padma breathed a small sigh of relief. She could manage that easily enough.

"Where will we learn the histories?" Susan asked.

"I will relate them to you over the course of this year. We will meet once a week from here until the end of the year, and I will relate the tales of your heritage."

Malfoy frowned. "I assume when you say 'all year,' you are not counting the Holidays."

"I am indeed counting Holidays," Dumbledore corrected. "I trust that this will not be a problem, Mr. Malfoy?"

"I won't be here over Christmas," Malfoy said bluntly.

"I am very sorry to hear that. Are you absolutely certain you cannot be here?"

Malfoy nodded stiffly. His entire body was rigid, and he was staring resolutely away from both Harry and Dumbledore.

"Then we have even less time to waste than we did before."

Padma could tell that this surprised Malfoy. Dumbledore saw it too, and he shook his head. "I am not going to ask you to leave, Mr. Malfoy. You will simply not hear two of the chapters of the history. I am sure you will survive."

Padma's eyes widened. She'd never known Dumbledore to be sarcastic.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. He looked hard at Dumbledore, then nodded jerkily. "Yes, I expect I will."

Padma looked from one to the other, certain that they were speaking in some kind of code she didn't understand. The look in Malfoy's hard gray eyes prevented her from asking out loud, but she couldn't help wondering.

Dumbledore looked at them all, still stroking the phoenix. "Shall we begin?"

They all nodded, Malfoy a beat behind the others. Dumbledore closed his eyes, and the atmosphere in the room shifted perceptively. When he opened them again, they were distant, as though he saw, not them, but other people, people in a time long long ago. His hand stilled on the phoenix' back, and he began.

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_Author's note: the next chapter will be way way back and about the founders. I think I will do it that way for the rest of the story: one chapter present, one chapter past. Sorry if that's confusing to you. Oh, and major thanks go to D0nQuix0te, whose story _The Four Founders_ got me interested in them in the first place. It's a wonderful story which all of you should read!  
--kyra  
_


	2. The beginning

_Sorry this took so long. I was sidetracked writing other chapters of this and another story (which you should read: it's called _My Happily Ever After_, and no, it's not Harry Potter. It's Snow White, though, so no one should be able to claim they don't know the story.)  
This chapter is in honor of D0nQuix0te, who is writing an absolutely amazing story and who is so far the only person to review this story. Thanks a million dear!  
And now, on to chapter two, which takes us far, far back in time to meet one of the greatest witches of all time..._

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2: the beginning

Rowena Ravenclaw had always known she was different. It wasn't her intelligence: her father was a scholar, and her mother was more than capable of keeping up with him, so it was only natural that she be quick witted. Nor was it that she was pretty: she didn't consider herself attractive in the slightest. Nor was it even that the only person she had ever kissed was another woman. This was different. It was a feeling within her, a sense of growing power that would erupt unless she kept herself under rigorous control at all times. By the time she was twelve, she had more self control than either of her parents and all of her friends. She had to. When she lost control, she didn't just hurt feelings: she threw things across the room and shattered glassware without touching it. She had no choice but to learn self control.

She was a quiet child, not prone to bursts of aimless chatter like some of her friends were. She learned quickly how to use her eyes, and she saw everything that passed. She knew exactly who was mooning after who, and she knew precisely when such infatuations ended. She made a healthy profit telling girls which boy was waiting for them and the other way around. Her parents, had they known, would have been scandalized. She worked very hard to keep them from knowing.

When she was sixteen, an old man arrived in their village. She spotted him soon after he had arrived in the village and ran to spread the news. The entire population of the village filed out to greet him as he passed. Rowena hung back, watching him. He was the oldest man she had ever seen, wizened and bent, leaning heavily on a stout stick. His hair was as white and wispy as the clouds in the sky, and his eyes were very nearly colorless. He walked slowly, his feet shuffling slightly as he moved. Everyone in the village seemed to treat him with respect and not a little awe, making room for him as he passed and addressing him as Grandfather. Rowena didn't join the masses surging to greet him, but slipped out the back way and headed back to her home. Something told her that this man would bring an irrevocable change to her life, and she wasn't sure she wanted it. She was happy where she was, living with her parents and her friends. She didn't think she wanted to leave.

She'd known that he would stay with them. Her father made a comfortable salary at the school where he taught, and neither he nor her mother were big spenders, so they always had enough money to go around. Many of Rowena's friends were no so lucky, and she was often sent to their houses with gifts of food and money. Some of them were refused, but Rowena's mother was so kind and open hearted that soon no one saw the gifts as an insult, but as a gift to the community as a whole. Rowena would always glow with pride when she heard people praising her mother. So it was no surprise when Grandfather set up camp in their guest room.

He stayed with them for almost a week, and during that time, Rowena learned to dislike him. He would sit in her father's best chair and watch. He seldom spoke, and he was never any trouble, but he was always watching. He watched her mother putter around the kitchen, constantly checking her hair and smoothing down her dress as she worked. He watched her father leave and come home, never failing to deliver a welcoming kiss to Rowena and her mother. But mostly he watched Rowena. He watched her every move with his sharp, colorless eyes. She hated it. He always made her feel wanting, as though he were sizing her up and finding a fault. She began to leave any room he entered, much to her mother's mortification. Rowena didn't care. Her mother's reprimands were better than Grandfather's unblinking stare.

He had been with them for four days when the two of them finally spoke. They had exchanged words before: hello, how do you do, welcome to our home, thank you for your hospitality… but nothing more than what was absolutely dictated by politeness. But he sought her out that morning, cornering her before she could leave for school and forcing her back into her room. Rowena watched him, eyes wide. She had heard, of course, about the men who preyed on young girls, but surely he was a little old for that! He didn't make any more moves towards her, though, merely sitting down and studying her intently. Slowly, in his aged and cracked voice, he began to talk, and she quickly forgot her fears as she listened. He spoke at first of his travels, recounting adventures and mishaps that made her stifle gales of laughter. His eyes twinkled as he spoke, and she wondered how she could ever have disliked him.

As he spoke, she leaned forward, entranced by his words yet sure that there was more he was not telling her. The more he spoke, the more convinced she became of this. There was something he was not saying, and she knew that it was vital she hear it. She bit her lip to keep from blurting the questions out and began to analyze his every word, looking for some kind of clue.

He finally got to it. They had been speaking for hours, and the sun was nearly at the top of its course through the sky. Grandfather leaned towards her and lowered his voice, and she knew instinctively that what he was about to say would be the most important thing she ever heard in her life.

"Listen closely to me, Rowena. We're not like the others, you and I. We're different. Yes, I can see that you already know. We have power, the two of us, power that no one else does. We are as Gods among mortals. We have power to do whatever we like."

"What kind of power?" Rowena breathed, intoxicated by the tapestry he spun.

"The power to do anything," he said, his ancient voice intense and excited. He fumbled in his pocket pulling out a short, slender stick, which he handed to her. "With this, you could do anything in the world. You are no longer bound by the so called laws of nature. We are a breed apart. Laws have no meaning for us any longer."

She took the stick, her eyes widening as she felt the power it contained. She gasped in shock as she felt the power within her respond to the power in the stick, the two forces straining to reach each other. As she held the stick, she knew he was right. She could do anything she chose, could accomplish any task. She felt uplifted, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of the possibilities now open to her. Some force greater than herself compelled her to turn, seeking something upon which to exercise her newly discovered power. A vase full of unwanted flowers fulfilled the requirements nicely, and she pointed the stick at it, concentrating all her will on moving it. Grandfather's breath was coming in short, eager gasps as he watched, and she knew he was as excited as she was. As the power within her connected with the power within the stick, she felt the invisible arms shooting out from her and reaching out to the vase, pushing and pushing, straining to lift the vase off the table. Slowly, it lifted itself and hovered a few inches off the surface of the table, sitting suspended by nothing at all.

"You did it!" Grandfather whispered, awe tingeing his voice. "You will be one of the greatest witches anyone has ever seen, Rowena. You could control the world if you wished."

She nodded, spellbound by the sight of the vase hanging there. All too soon, she felt the power begin to ebb within her. She clung desperately to the last shreds of that incredible connection, but it slipped back inside her and the vase fell crashing down to the desk, shattering into a million shards and throwing water and flower petals over everything. She looked at the mess in devastation, wondering if it had all been a dream. But no. Grandfather reached his hand out for the stick and, when she gave it to him reluctantly, he twisted his wrist sharply and the shards flew back together to form a single, unbroken vase. She picked it up with wondering hands, running her fingers across its smooth surface, unable even to tell it had been broken. Another twist of the wrist made the water and flowers vanish, a third dried the floor and the desk. Rowena turned, vase still in hand, to stare at Grandfather, her eyes wide and her voice tinged with longing.

"Teach me," she begged. "I want to learn everything."

Two days later, Grandfather moved on, taking Rowena with him. They traveled across the country, stopping at villages and staying with strangers. Rowena learned to cook and to set up camp, and she learned the secret art of magic. She never tired of practicing, never tired of the feel of her magic surging to meet the magic of the wand, first Grandfather's and then her own, and within a few years she had learned what Grandfather had to teach her. By the time she was 21, Rowena was a mistress of her craft, confident and capable of anything. She had long surpassed Grandfather in skill, something she knew he resented. He was cross and sullen now, snapping at her when once he would praise her, refusing to teach her anything more, telling her that she should figure it out herself, if she was so clever. She knew that she no longer needed him, knew that she was more than capable enough to strike out on her own, but the rare flashes of kindness that occasionally still came kept her there. There were times when he would forget his resentment and jealousy, days when he would laugh and say that he was just a cross old man and she shouldn't take any of what he said personally. She clung to those moments, putting up with the periods of sullenness without complaint.

They were camping when her salvation came. Grandfather was asleep, his staff propped against a rock, his mouth slightly open. Rowena squatted before the fire, watching as the stew she was cooking stirred itself. She had become so adept at this kind of small magic that she no longer even had to think about it, and so she was free to think of other things. She daydreamed as she stared into the pot, thinking of her family and her former life. Would they recognize her now, she wondered. Would they know the old Rowena, quiet and shy, in this new person, one who was confident and mature? She had her doubts, and it saddened her.

Her head jerked up suddenly, and she snapped back to the present, straining her ears to hear the sound that had alerted her. It was a small sound, the snapping of a twig, but it was a sign that they were no longer alone. Her body tense, she listened again. Yes, there it was! And then another. Footsteps, coming closer. A hissed word of command extinguished the fire, another kept the stew warm. She stood, rising fluidly from her crouched position. Ears taught, she waited, her wand clutched tightly in her hand. The twigs cracked again, and she whirled to face the direction they were coming from, prepared to defend herself and Grandfather.

He wasn't anything out of the ordinary, at least, not at first. His hair was dark and it hung sleekly to his shoulders. His clothes were slightly worn, but of very good quality, as were his shoes. His skin was very pale, as though he hadn't been out in the sun long enough to tan. As he turned towards her, Rowena caught sight of his eyes. They were a bright, penetrating blue, a shade darker than the brilliant sky above them. She waited, trying to determine if he was a friend or not. As he turned more, her breath caught and her heart sped up in excited terror. His left hand was empty, but, as he turned to face her, she saw the short stick he held in his right hand. She gasped in shock, and his eyes locked on her. She saw him examine her, saw his eyes go to her own wand, and then they rose to meet hers.

He came forward, his steps slightly hesitant, as though he were approaching some kind of dangerous animal. She waited, perfectly still, as he advanced. When they were still several feet apart, he stopped, still staring at her.

"Who are you?" His voice was harsh as he spat the question.

She scowled, immediately on the defensive. "A traveler," she snapped. "And yourself?"

"The same," he said stiffly. They stood there for a long moment, neither one moving, neither one breaking eye contact.

"Do you have a name?" he asked finally.

"Why would I tell you my name?" she demanded. "I don't know who you are."

He bowed, his expression mocking. "Salazar Slytherin, at your service."

"Rowena. Rowena Ravenclaw."

He nodded. "Yes, that makes sense," he murmured, almost to himself.

"What do you mean?"

"I assume you aren't traveling alone."

She scowled, waiting for him to answer her question. When it became clear she wasn't going to volunteer any more information, he sighed. "You're well known," he informed her. "You and the old man both." His eyes darted past her to where Grandfather was still sleeping soundly. His expression twisted into a sneer at the sight.

"Why do you ask questions you already know the answers to?" Rowena asked, looking hard at him.

He didn't answer, only staring at Grandfather with a slightly patronizing expression on his face. Suddenly, he turned back to Rowena. "Why do you stay with the old coot?" he demanded.

"He's not an old coot!" Rowena hissed fiercely, ready to defend Grandfather with all she had. "He's my teacher and my friend!" Sometimes.

"But how much does he have left to teach you?" Salazar demanded, eyeing her shrewdly. She saw him take in the spotless camp site, the pot bubbling softly over the long dead fire, the thick blanket that covered Grandfather, all signs that someone with magical power had set up the camp.

"More than you know," she said, though it was a lie and he knew it.

They stood in silence for a long moment. Grandfather stirred, knocking his staff over. Without thinking, Rowena stopped it from toppling over, returning it to its former position with a silent command.

"Wordless and wandless," Salazar commented. "Impressive."

Rowena didn't answer, turning back to her cooking pot. There didn't seem to be any reason to hide her magic from him, so she lit the fire again and checked her stew. It was almost ready. Unwilling but constrained by the rules of politeness, she looked up at Salazar. "Would you care to share the noon meal with us?" she ground out. "We have too much to eat ourselves." That, at least, was true. They made a decent living performing petty magics for the villagers they encountered, and Rowena's quick wand had turned her into a competent huntress, though she preferred not to take life if she could help it. Grandfather accused her of being soft, reminding her that, as Gods on Earth, she had a right to do anything she wished.

He nodded, clearly as bound by politeness as she was. "I would be most grateful," he said smoothly, sounding much more willing than she.

She nodded back and moved gracefully over to where Grandfather was still snoring softly. Gently, she shook his arm. "Grandfather, it's time to eat." He didn't respond, too deep in slumber to notice her efforts to wake him. She sighed, acutely aware of Salazar sneering in the background.

She touched her wand to his temple and whispered the incantation that would allow her to go into his mind. "Grandfather," she said again. "The meal is ready. We have a guest." She left quickly, sensing that he was waking. He didn't like her in his mind and, quite frankly, she didn't like being there. It bothered her to be in someone else's mind, and being in Grandfather's was always particularly disconcerting. Something about how he viewed their non-magical counterparts leaked into all the rest of his thoughts, and he always managed to make her feel slightly inferior for having had non-magical parents.

Salazar was still watching her when she returned to her own body, but he made no comment. When Grandfather woke, he introduced himself courteously enough, saying that he had heard of them and wished to travel with them for a little while to learn from Grandfather. Rowena's eyes narrowed as she heard this. Hadn't he called Grandfather an old coot only minutes before? She resolved to find out what Salazar_really_ wanted, and soon.

Later that afternoon, when they had picked up their camp and were one more on the road, Salazar drifted back to talk with Rowena privately. Grandfather had fallen slightly behind, as usual, and Rowena doubted he could hear them. Even so, Salazar cast a silencing ward around them, making Rowena raise her eyebrows. "I don't need him to protect me, you know," she said. "I'm more than capable of hurting you myself."

"I know that," he assured her. "I wanted to talk to you without him listening in."

"Well, now that you've gotten us alone, what precisely do you want?"

He glanced back at Grandfather and, despite the ward of silence, lowered his voice. "Tell me the truth, Rowena. Why do you stay with him?"

Rowena frowned at his casual use of her first name. "I stay with him because I want to," she said stiffly. "And because he's too old to travel alone."

He looked surprised and slightly suspicious. "You want to?" he demanded. "You want to stay with a person who treats you like a servant, not worthy of doing anything but chores? To be perfectly frank with you, if you do want to stay, you must be more than a little touched in the head."

Rowena scowled. "Who are you to say I'm touched?" she snapped. "You're the one who chose to travel with us. You didn't have to."

"I want to," he said seriously. "But not because of him. I want to stay because of you."

That shocked her into momentary silence, and he took advantage of that to press his point. "You're worth a hundred of him. You have power and brains, I can tell that already. You're wasting your life with a man who isn't worth it. Leave him, make your own way in the world."

"With you?" Rowena whispered. She was reminded of the first time she'd met Grandfather: the feeling of utter intoxication was irresistible. Then, it had been the thought of knowledge that drew her. Now, it was freedom.

"If you like," he said. "Together, we could accomplish so many things."

"Good things," she agreed. "We could help people."

He smiled slightly. "Anything," he promised. "And we're not the only ones. There are others Rowena. Others like us who want to change the world. Only imagine what would happen if we were to meet them. People would remember us for centuries!"

Completely swept away by the picture he was painting, Rowena nodded.

"Will you come with me?" he asked, his voice low and intense. "Will you leave him and learn to fly on your own?"

"Yes," she said.

Two days later, they left Grandfather early in the morning, slipping out of the inn they were staying at to make their way out into the world on their own.

Rowena was certain she was having some kind of déjà vu. There she was, alone at a camp, stirring the meal, listening with tensed muscles as someone approached their campsite. Her dark eyes glanced hurriedly around, searching for Salazar. He was nowhere in sight. She grimaced, twisting around to see if she could see who it was who was sneaking up on them. She couldn't see anyone. Taking a deep breath, she stood, drew her wand, and shouted, "Come out now!"

There was a cracking of underbrush and a flurry of low and intense swearing, and then a man stepped out, one hand holding a sword, then other clenched into a fist at his side. Rowena studied him as he advanced, noting the easy way he moved. He was obviously a fighter, she thought. His blond hair was cropped short, and his broad face was very tan. He was dressed plainly but well, in a green tunic and leather breeches. The sword he clutched was bright and very sharp, with the hint of a ruby peeking through his big hand.

He looked at her, then glanced around the camp. "Are you travelling alone, gentle maiden?" he asked, frowning in disapproval.

Rowena shook her head, doing her best not to grimace at being addressed as 'gentle maiden.' "My companion should be back shortly," she told him. "May I ask why you wander these woods at this time of year?" It was turning cold, and Rowena was sure they would have snow within a few days. It didn't trouble her much: warming spells were easy and effective, but most nonmagical people tended to avoid travelling in winter.

"I seek companionship and adventure," he answered smoothly.

She smiled, liking him already. "I don't know about adventure, but we can provide companionship."

He bowed courteously. "I would be honored to journey with you, Madam. But would not your companion object?"

Rowena shrugged. "Perhaps," she agreed. "But he does not tell me what to do."

His eyebrows lifted. "You are truly independent of him?"

She nodded. "Absolutely. We travel together through ties of convenience and friendship, not security."

"It is an honor to meet so fearless a maiden," he said, bowing again. "But is it not dangerous?"

She burst out laughing, shaking her head. "Not at all," she assured him.

They both turned then to see Salazar coming out of the forest. He slowed, eyeing the stranger with narrowed eyes. Briskly, he walked over to stand next to Rowena, stepping protectively in front of her. She narrowed her own eyes and stepped away. He turned to glare at her, and she scowled, nodding at the stranger. "He's coming with us," she informed Salazar shortly.

Salazar's scowl deepened. "Oh is he?" he asked, eyeing the stranger carefully. "And who might you be?"

The stranger bowed again, his blue eyes laughing. "Godric Gryffindor, at your service," he said.

Salazar's eyebrows lifted. "Gryffindor?" he repeated. "What are you doing here, of all places?"

Godric frowned. "Have we met?" he asked in confusion. "I fear I might have forgotten it, if we did."

Salazar shook his head. "I know you by reputation only," he assured Godric. "But the gossip puts you in the west country, not this far north."

Godric grinned, relaxing. "Does it? Well, clearly the gossip is mistaken. I am clearly not in the west country. And now, may I inquire as to your own name?"

"Slytherin," Salazar said briefly. "You will know of my father."

"You are Salazar?"

Salazar nodded, and Godric turned to Rowena. "And are you related to this good man?"

She shook her head. "Rowena Ravenclaw."

He bowed. "Your servant, Madam. May I assume that you share the same… gifts as Slytherin and myself?"

Rowena frowned. "If you mean, am I a witch, then yes, I am."

"Wonderful!" he said. "I look forward to travelling with you immensely."

Salazar scowled at that. Rowena smiled. "We look forward to learning all that you have learned on your own journey. Would you join us for the noon meal?"

"I would be delighted," he assured her. He moved past Salazar and sat down across from the fire. Rowena followed, grinning as she went. Salazar could use some lightening up, and Godric seemed able to do it.

The conversation over the meal was mostly confined to scripted compliments and not-so-subtle attempts to inform Godric that he was no welcome. After Salazar had uttered the third of these, Rowena, tired of his rudeness, glared at him and cast a silent silencing charm on him. When he realized what had happened, his scowl moved over to her, and she only grinned. Godric laughed, and the two of them spent the rest of the time talking of their respective journeys.

Godric quickly became a part of the family Rowena and Salazar had created, and he and Salazar became good friends, something that made Rowena grin and tease Salazar mercilessly about first impressions. To his credit, he took her teasing good naturedly, only resorting to silencing charms of his own on a few occasions. She put up with those without comment, knowing that she probably deserved them.

They had been travelling together for almost two months when they finally arrived at the tiny village of Hogsmeade.

"Shall we?" Rowena asked, indicating the cluster of houses. They began to walk towards it when suddenly she stopped.

"What?" Salazar asked, stopping as well and looking back at her in concerned confusion.

"Just a moment," she said, concentrating on the village. A quick spell revealed it to be both unplottable and covered with cloaking spells. She grinned. "We won't have to hide our true natures here," she informed her companions. "Everyone here appears to share our magical abilities."

Godric grinned widely. "Excellent," he boomed. He reached into his pocket and drew his own wand, then began walking down the road to the village. Rowena followed, keeping her wand out. Salazar came last, scowling slightly.

"What is it now?" Rowena demanded, slowing so that she walked next to him.

He shrugged. "Nothing," he answered, a touch too quickly.

Rowena frowned. "What is it?" she asked again, her tone a warning.

"We are going to meet someone here who will change our lives forever, and I don't like it," he said irritably. "Satisfied?"

She sighed. "Why do you insist on being ornery?" she demanded.

"It's in my nature," he said, a slight trace of a grin in his voice.

She grinned back. "True. But you certainly don't make any efforts to curb that, do you?"

He didn't answer, which was all the answer she needed. Her grin widened.

They arrived at the village then, increasing their pace to catch up to Godric. He was looking around in interest, an openly curious expression on his face. Suddenly, Rowena turned, sensing someone following her. A woman, slightly plump, much shorter than Rowena, who stood as tall as most men, with soft blond hair and calm blue eyes looked at them. She beckoned to Rowena, who touched Salazar's arm and followed. The two men trailed a little ways behind as the woman led Rowena into a house. Once Godric had closed the door behind him, she smiled at them. "My name is Helga Hufflepuff," she said. "I've been waiting for you."


	3. Connections

_Author's note: So sorry this has taken so long. _I_ finished it_ ages_ ago, I promise! Kyra just procrastinated and didn't type it up until now. _(Hey, not my fault! Been busy... --kyra)_ Anyway, we hope you like it. We're getting to the suspence, which is fun, and Draco is getting (some) action, which makes me VERY HAPPY! (I like Draco :D. But you knew that.)  
--tamara_

* * *

3: connection

Parvati accosted her the next morning at breakfast. "So?" she demanded.

Padma sighed. "You were right," she told her twin. "Satisfied?"

Exasperated, Parvati propped her hands on her hips. "Of course not. I want _details_! Who else was there?"

"Susan Bones, Harry Potter, and Draco Malfoy." Before Parvati could say more, Padma asked, "Professor Dumbledore told us the beginning of the story of the four founders. We'll meet once a week until the end of school so he can tell us more, and, no; I'm not allowed to tell you what he says."

Parvati sighed. "You're _certain_?" she wheedled.

"Absolutely," Padma said firmly. "So don't even try."

She'd thought Parvati would leave after that to go back and gossip with Lavender, but Padma's twin sat down across from her instead. Padma's best friend Mandy looked at her oddly, but Parvati flitted in and out of the Ravenclaw common room often enough that her presence caused no great stir. Parvati snagged a piece of toast and began to butter it daintily. She leaned forward confidentially as she did so, making Padma exceedingly nervous. When Parvati got that look in her eyes, she was dangerous.

"So, any bets on how long it'll be until Harry and Malfoy elope together?"

Padma chocked on her pumpkin juice, narrowly avoiding sending it spraying all over everywhere. When she could speak again, she demanded, "_Excuse_ me!"

Parvati leaned back again, regarding her sister patronizingly. "My money's on before Christmas. My sources tell me Malfoy is firmly, if not openly, gay, and Harry is quite possibly the most eligible, not to mention the most decorative, boy in the school."

Padma was staring at her sister, a look of abject horror on her face. "_Please_ tell me you're joking," she begged. "I can't cope with this kind of thing first thing in the morning."

Parvati eyed her sympathetically and poured her another cup of pumpkin juice. "I don't see what's so shocking about it," she said, sounding sincere. "It's not like it's even that uncommon."

"They. Hate. Each. Other." Padma said through clenched teeth. "And I am not even going to _consider_ the possibility of them loving and hating each other at the same time."

Parvati looked slightly taken aback, and Padma couldn't help feeling smug at having surprised her all knowing twin. "Oh, is that what you're objecting to?"

"What else?"

Parvati shrugged. "There are those who wouldn't approve because they're both boys," she pointed out.

Padma rolled her eyes. "I have no problems whatsoever with that part," she assured Parvati. "It's the whole, 'enemies to the death' part that's got me."

Parvati waved that away. "They'll get over it," she said confidently.

Padma looked at her sternly. "You are _not_ to lock them in a closet together," she warned. "And if I hear of any attempts at matchmaking, I _will_ confiscate your makeup and turn it into a wide variety of poisonous mushrooms, so help me Shiva."

Parvati winced. "I'll be good," she promised.

"Good."

Parvati was silent for a moment, and Padma took advantage of the silence to begin reviewing her Arithmancy notes for class. She was midway through solving a particularly fiendish equation when Parvati asked, "So, what do you think of Cho Chang?"

Padma's eyes widened. "_Don't_ tell me you're considering girls now," she pleaded. She couldn't take that much. There were rules in her world, and she couldn't bear it if they were broken. Death Eaters were bad, good grades were good, and Parvati dated boys. That was just how things _were_.

Thankfully, Parvati was shaking her head. "Not for me," she assured Padma.

"Why do you ask, then?"

"Ginny Weasley," Parvati answered promptly.

Padma frowned. "Wait a bit. Doesn't Ginny have some kind of grand passion for Harry?"

Parvati shrugged. "She thinks she does," she admitted. "But she'll get over it."

Padma eyed her closely, then grimaced. "You're getting rid of the competition, aren't you?" Parvati didn't deny it. Padma sighed in defeat. "Well, you're not allowed to directly mention to it either of them, got it?"

Parvati nodded.

Padma stood, glancing at her watch. "I've got to go to class," she said. "See you at lunch."

"See you," Parvati said vaguely. Padma suspected she was thinking of how to get her way without disobeying the restrictions. Padma sighed, knowing Parvati would find a loophole in any rule. She was lucky to have gotten this much of a concession.

She slipped into her seat next to Susan, putting her books down with a slight thump. Susan looked up at her and smiled briefly.

Padma glanced around, then asked, "So, what do you think of the history so far?"

Susan considered this for a moment. "It's interesting," she said. "It's not what I expected."

Padma nodded. "I never really thought about who they were," she admitted. "We just hear about them as the people who built Hogwarts, not as real people."

"But they were," Susan said quietly. "They loved and lost, just like the rest of us."

Padma looked at her in surprise. Susan wasn't one to share her feelings. "You're right," she agreed softly.

Professor Vector came in then, and Susan and Padma turned their attention to finding the power efficiency ration of the levitation charm and the locomotor charm.

Despite her revulsion, Padma couldn't help watching Harry and Malfoy. By the end of two days, she was convinced Parvati had no idea what she was talking about. They quite obviously detested each other passionately, and one night of forced familiarity a week clearly wasn't about to change that. Harry was still volatile and loud, Malfoy still controlled and icy, and they both still hated each other. That was just the way things were.

Yet she couldn't help watching them out of the corner of her eyes. And, as she watched, she noticed little things. She saw how Harry would glance away from Malfoy, as though he were being shy, and how Malfoy's sneer seemed to lighten very slightly when he thought Harry wasn't looking, as though it was just an act. Once, she would have attributed that to hatred, but, prompted by her sister, she began to see it in a different way. What if it wasn't hatred but passion? Then she shook herself. She was _not_ her sister; she did _not_ see romance everywhere. End of story.

Even if Harry still hated Malfoy, it didn't stop him from branching out somewhat. Two days after the meeting, he came over to where Padma and Susan were sitting in the library and asked, "Can I sit here?"

Padma looked at him in surprise. In all the years he'd been at Hogwarts, she'd never seen him sit with anyone other than Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Susan only nodded, wordlessly clearing a space at the table for him to sit. He did, looking more than a little uncomfortable.

"What are you doing here?" Padma asked, looking at him curiously.

He shrugged, a little self consciously. "I just figured that since we're going to be spending time together, we might as well get to know each other."

Padma nodded in approval. "Good thinking," she said. "Who wants to go first?"

"I guess I will," Harry said, a little self consciously. "Seeing as how it was my idea in the first place." He paused, considering. Finally, he said, "There's not much about you don't know, most likely. I live with my aunt and uncle and cousin, all muggles. Learning I was a wizard was the best thing that ever happened to me. Er, my favorite food is pumpkin pie, and my goal in life is to save the world. Oh, and I guess you could call that my hobby too."

Padma laughed. "I can just see that in Spells 4 U magazine. 'In his spare time, Harry Potter enjoys eating pumpkin pie, playing Quidditch, and saving the world.' Front page article, probably."

Harry grimaced. Susan looked at Padma in horror. "You get Spells 4 U!" she asked, sounding utterly appalled.

Padma shook her head, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "My sister does," she explained. "I couldn't help absorbing some of it."

Susan sighed in relief. "Good. You've just redeemed yourself once more."

Padma grinned. Harry frowned. "What _is_ Spells 4 U, anyway?"

Padma shrugged. "It's basically a cross between Seventeen and Playboy for girls." Answering Susan's questioning look, she added, "My sister gets those too."

Harry winced. "Is it the kind of magazine Rita Skeeter would write for?"

"Rita Skeeter would write for just about _anything_ at this point," Padma pointed out dryly. "But yes, it's about her style."

Harry grimaced. "Remind me never to do another interview."

Padma and Susan glanced at each other. Doing her best not to start laughing, Padma asked, "Is it something you do often?"

Harry looked at her in surprise, then smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, I guess that sounded pretty stuck up, didn't it?"

Padma nodded, still fighting giggles.

"Well, I try to avoid it as much as possible," he assured her. "It's not on my list of things to do on a regular basis."

Padma grinned. Harry eyed her, then said, "All right, enough about me. What about you? You're not like your sister, are you?"

"Not at all," she said. A look of relief crossed his face. "We look alike, but that's as far as it goes."

"Oh, good."

Parvati eyed him, then said, "You know, I don't quite see what you have against her. It's not like she's ever done anything to you," 'The other way around, more like,' Padma thought, remembering the Yule Ball.

Harry sighed. "No, she hasn't," he admitted. "But, well, to be perfectly honest, she scares me." He looked at Padma as though he expected her to laugh at him. She, however, wasn't about to do anything of the sort.

"She scares me too," she told him, watching his eyes widen in shock. "Actually, Parvati scares a lot of people, boys and girls alike." She suddenly remembered Parvati's plans concerning the unsuspecting Ginny Wealsey, and she felt a twinge of empathy with the younger girl. Ginny didn't stand a chance. Padma knew the feeling.

Harry began to ask question then, drilling her and, eventually, Susan about every little detail of their lives. Padma did her best to humor him, guessing he knew next to nothing about purebloods. In return, he told them some of how muggles lived, and Padma began to realize just why her mother admired them so much. They were certainly highly inventive, she'd give them that.

Over the next few days, Harry continued to spend some time with Padma and Susan. They discovered that they actually had a lot in common, something which surprised all three. Padma sensed that Ron and Hermione were both curious and jealous about this new relationship they weren't a part of, but she didn't care. Harry had every right to have other friends, after all.

Closer to home, Parvati seemed to be advancing nicely in her master plan to give Ginny to Cho. Padma had no idea if Cho was interested or not, but Ginny certainly seemed to be looking over at the Ravenclaw table rather a lot. When Padma realized what was happening, she locked eyes with her sister. Parvati only grinned conspiratorially at Padma, who sighed in resignation and turned back to her breakfast.

"Did you see Ginny staring?" Mandy asked, reaching over and snagging the jug of pumpkin juice.

Padma nodded.

"Who do you think's got her eye this time? Not Michael again, I hope."

Padma shook her head, then nodded over at Cho, who completely failed to notice the fifteen year old Weasley. Many raised her eyebrows. "You think?"

Padma shrugged. "That's where my money is."

Mandy looked from Ginny to Cho again, then raised her eyes heavenward. "God help us all. I've heard stories of Ginny's… dating prowess and, well, we all know how Cho is."

Padma nodded, wincing slightly. "I can only hope one of them learns a good silencing charm." A sudden idea came to her. "Or I can ask my sister for one. She owes it to me."

"What has she done?" Mandy knew Parvati well, by reputation at least. Padma would be the first to affirm that said reputation was well deserved.

Padma indicated Ginny, who was glancing at Cho out of the corner of her eye. "This was all her idea. She has some dastardly scheme in mind for Harry Potter, and she didn't want Ginny interfering."

Mandy winced. "I feel sorry for him," she said in a heartfelt tone. "_I_ wouldn't want Parvati to take an interest in my love life."

Padma nodded. "I'm with you," she agreed. "Speaking from experience, having her decide your life needs her help is one of the most terrifying things in the world, including dueling with Death Eaters."

"You've dueled with Death Eaters?"

"No, I grew up with my sister."

Mandy laughed and took a bite of toast.

Friday rolled around, and Padma received another summons to Professor Dumbledore's office. She arrived early once again and, instead of delving back into Jane Austen, she pulled out her wand and amused herself by trying to hack into the statue of the gargoyle.

She'd gotten absolutely nowhere when Harry's voice broke through her concentration. 

"What on _Earth_ are you doing?"

Padma shrugged, pocketing her wand. "Playing."

He looked at her oddly. "Is that some kind of Ravenclaw thing?"

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Doing high level magic and calling it fun."

She laughed. "It _is_ fun," she insisted. "I _like_ doing this kind of thing."

Harry grimaced. "Ron _said_ you were mental," he muttered. "I'm starting to think he might be right."

Padma scowled. "Hey! I'm no more obsessed than Hermione, you know."

"Oh, she's mental too," Harry assured her. "But we've always known that."

"I'm sure she's thrilled to know how you think of her," Padma said dryly. "Quite frankly, I'm astonished that she puts up with you and Ron at all."

"She doesn't, a lot of the time," Harry confided.

Padma grinned. Susan arrived then, panting slightly. "Oh, good. I'm not late after all!"

Padma checked her watch. "You've got 30 seconds to spare," she told her friend. 

Susan didn't answer, leaning against the wall to catch her breath. Moments later, the gargoyle sprang into motion, exposing the moving staircase. They stepped on, riding to the top in silence. Glancing back, Padma realized that Malfoy had joined them. She grimaced and turned back to the front. As it had before, the door to the Headmaster's office swung open silently at Padma's knock. They filed in, finding Professor Dumbledore waiting for them. He was sitting behind his desk, which had been cleared of everything but four objects. Padma moved to examine them. A gleaming silver diadem caught her eye, and she reached out without thinking to take it. Her hand closed around the cool metal, and her eyes widened as she felt its power. She knew without being told that the diadem had once belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw herself, and then, in time, it would be Padma's.

Looking around, she saw that Susan held a golden cup close to her heart, her eyes closed and her breathing very slightly shallow. Malfoy fingered an intricate necklace, an oddly tender expression on his usually cold and guarded face. Only Harry hadn't taken his object. He stared at the ruby-hilted sword with an odd glower, as though the sight of it were somehow repellent.

Dumbledore didn't comment on Harry's behavior, merely looked at the four of them. "These items are your heritage as Keepers. You will understand their true significance in time, but, for now, realize that they belonged to the founders of each of your houses. They are special because of that, among other things, and, as you learn more of the history, you will learn to appreciate just how unique they truly are."

"I don't want it," Harry said, nodding at the sword. His voice was still, and he held himself rigidly away from the object.

Dumbledore shook his head gently. "You must take it," he told Harry. "It is a part of your heritage."

"I don't want it," Harry repeated. He glared at Dumbledore in a way that made Padma _very_ glad it wasn't _her_ he was glaring at.

Dumbledore sighed. "Harry, we can argue about this as long as you wish, but you cannot change reality. As Gryffindor's heir, the sword is yours by right. Take it or not, it does not change that fact."

Harry scowled. Padma, however, frowned, her mind concentrating on another part of Dumbledore's words. "You said Harry was the heir of Gryffindor. Does that mean…?" She trailed off, glancing at Malfoy. She, like most of the rest of the student body old enough to remember, still remembered the mysterious events of her second year.

Professor Dumbledore nodded. "Each of you is the true heir of your respective houses."

Malfoy grimaced, gingerly replacing the necklace. "Marvelous," he muttered. "Yet another thing that wasn't supposed to happen."

Harry glanced at Malfoy, who studiously ignored him.

Padma turned back to Professor Dumbledore. "How many others have had these?"

Dumbledore nodded his approval. "More than anyone can remember," he said. "And more than you will ever know."

Padma frowned at the perceived insult to her intelligence. Before she could say anything, Susan intervened. "And these have been owned by all the generations before us?"

He nodded. She closed her eyes, thinking. Padma recognized her Arithmancy face. Finally, she announced, "39 generations."

Dumbledore smiled patronizingly. "Since the founders, yes. Unfortunately, we do not know how many owned them before the founders did."

"Oh."

Padma studied the diadem, willing it to reveal its secrets. It didn't.

"Shall we begin?" Dumbledore asked, glancing at the fire. "I believe we left off where they met each other for the first time, yes?"

They all nodded. Professor Dumbledore rose, moving to sit on the stool again. As before, the phoenix flew over to perch on his knee. The four walked over and took their seats, eyes turned expectantly towards their headmaster. As Dumbledore began to speak, Padma caught Malfoy looking back at the necklace with a kind of desperation that chilled her blood. She knew then that Malfoy was in more trouble than any of them could even imagine, and she wondered what they were going to do about it.

* * *

_Author's note 2: Caroline speaking. We are VERY SORRY (aren't we? glares and Kyra and Tamara) for all the typos in this chapter. We hope they have all been found. This is what we get for wanting to get the chapter up fast. Our thanks to D0nQuix0te for pointing them out to us, and we apologize again.  
--Caroline_


	4. Master Plan

_Author's note: look, it's another chapter! Aren't you excited? Okay, we'll stop now. But we hope you like this chapter, though we can't promise any quick updates. We've hit a bit of writer's block (Tamara, where are you?!) and we're not sure which of several ways the next chapter could go. -sigh- We will figure it out eventually. Oh, and need we mention that we are neither JK Rowling or Scholastics, so we do not own Harry Potter or anything relating to the Potterverse. _

* * *

4: Master plan

Rowena couldn't help feeling trapped in Hogsmeade. Helga had a lovely house, true, but it had been years since she stayed in a single place for longer than a week. Almost a month in Hogsmeade was making her uncomfortable. She didn't want to hurt Helga's feelings, though, so she kept her mouth shut and her claustrophobia in check.

She'd forgotten about Helga's inner eye, the ability that had allowed the blond to witch to know they when they arrived. No one could hide anyone from Helga, and Rowena was no different. The other woman found her in the field outside Hogsmeade a week before the first of the month, looking out toward a seemingly impenetrable forest. She didn't speak, merely stood there, radiating calm and understanding. Finally, she asked, "How long do you think you will stay?"

Rowena sighed. "I don't know," she admitted.

Helga nodded her understanding. After a moment, she remarked, "We'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too," Rowena assured her. "I wish I could stay."

"Do you think you could stay until the end of the month?"

"I imagine so. What's happening at the end of the month?"

Helga grinned. "There's a children's festival," she explained. "All the children of the village show off their skills, and the most capable of them all is crowned champion for a year."

Rowena considered. She didn't really want to stay until the end of the month, but she owed it to her friend. Helga had been beyond kind by allowing them all to stay unconditionally in her house, and staying until the festival seemed like the least Rowena could do to repay such generosity. She nodded.

Helga's grin widened. "You'll like it," she promised.

Rowena smiled back. "I'm sure I will."

Helga left her then, going back to do whatever it was she did. Rowena still wasn't quite sure what Helga did for a living, but, whatever it was, it enabled her to live well, even with three guests.

Rowena stayed out for a while longer. She gazed out into the forest, wondering what it would feel like just to vanish into it. She felt an almost unbearable urge to do just that, and she clenched her hands into fists to keep the feeling in check. She'd promised Helga she would stay until the end of the month, and it would be worse than churlish to vanish now. Still, the longing refused to fade.

Abruptly, reason reasserted itself, and she started laughing. _Her_, go off into the woods alone? The idea was quite frankly ridiculous. She knew enough of woodcraft, it was true, but she certainly would never pass over a village if one was offered, and her knowledge of how to survive stopped after approximately two days. In fact, she knew of no one less suited to long stretches of life in the wilderness than herself, except maybe Salazar. The thought of Salazar brought her up short. How could she even _think_ of leaving without him? She felt physically sick at the very idea. He needed her! And, though she hated to admit it, she needed him too.

Annoyed, she shook her head, impatient with her sudden sentimentality. Salazar was quite capable of taking care of himself. He'd done it just fine before he met the rest of them, hadn't he? And, for that matter, she herself was just as capable. They were friends, that was all. There was no reason to fall apart completely if they went their separate ways. In fact, she assured herself, the thought of falling apart because of a _man_ was mildly revolting. Still, she turned and walked back to Helga's house, telling herself it was just the growing chill that quickened her step.

She found them all in the house, sitting in Helga's living room, laughing over glasses of some red liquid. She smiled as she moved to join them. Helga nodded at the decanter of ruby fluid, a question clear on her face. Rowena shook her head and took a seat.

"Godric wants to teach the boys to fight with swords," Salazar whispered in her ear.

She winced. "Bad idea."

He nodded. "Helga thinks so too," he assured her. "She's trying to talk him out of it."

"Good."

Godric, overhearing, turned to scowl at them. "Why are you so convinced that it's such a bad idea?" he demanded. "They should know how to defend themselves!"

"Why?" Rowena retorted. "They're perfectly safe here." "Besides," she added to Salazar under her breath. "He can't be trusted anywhere near sharp objects and young children. Separately, yes, but not in combination." Salazar grinned slightly, nodding.

Godric, who hadn't heard that last, answered her first statement. "What if other wizards attack?"

"Why would they? Hogsmeade doesn't have anything anyone would want."

Godric looked at her for a long moment, then shook his head. "It's obvious you didn't grow up in a wealthy household. If you had, you would realize that you always have _something_ someone wants, and there will always be people willing to take it."

Rowena stared at him. Before she could speak, Helga added, "We're not as penniless as we look, you know. When you can make everything you need, money tends to accumulate."

Salazar frowned. "What do you do to make your money, then?"

Helga grinned. "Personally? I grow and sell plants."

"Plants?"

"Magical plants."

"Of course," Salazar murmured. "They would have to be."

"And if you can sell plants, then why can't I teach swordplay?" Godric demanded. "It's just as respectable and far more useful."

"It's clear _you_ never spent much time around magical plants," Salazar countered dryly.

"No, I didn't," Godric admitted. "But I _did_ spend time around swords."

Rowena sighed in exasperation. "Are you not going to give up on this?"

"No."

Helga sighed. "If you do decide to do this, who do you think will come?"

"Everyone. They need to learn, and, if I know boys, they'll want to."

"Where would you teach them?" Rowena asked skeptically. "It's a small village, you know."

"There's a field over yonder," he reminded them, more animated now that it seemed likely he would get his way after all. "It's more than large enough."

"True," Rowena admitted slowly, considering it despite herself.

Godric looked at Salazar, clearly seeking unanimous approval. Salazar turned away, refusing to meet the other man's gaze. "What is it?" Godric asked, frowning.

Salazar hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. "Never mind," he muttered. He stood. "If you will excuse me." He walked quickly out of the room; Godric stood to follow, but Helga shook her head.

"Let him go," she counseled softly. "He'll return when he can."

Godric sighed, but subsided. Instead, he turned to look at Rowena. "What's wrong with him?"

She shrugged. "He isn't a fan of violence," she explained.

Godric frowned again. "He doesn't act like it."

"Yes he does," Rowena corrected. "Think about it. Have you _ever_ seen him resort to violence of any kind?"

Godric opened his mouth to reply, then closed it, thinking. Slowly, he admitted, "No."

She nodded. "Neither have I, and I've known him longer than you have."

"I've been wondering about that. Just how long _have_ you known each other?"

Rowena closed her eyes, counting backwards soundlessly. "Almost a year," she said at last.

"It doesn't seem like it's only been a year," Godric commented. "You act like you've known each other your entire lives."

"Sometimes I think we have," she admitted. "He's like the brother I never had."

"He is," Helga said quietly. "You and Salazar have a connection that reaches beyond the boundaries of simple friendship. You complete each other."

Godric frowned. "You make it sound like they're in love," he complained. Moments later, he looked at Rowena, a slightly worried look in his eyes. "You aren't, are you?"

Rowena shook her head.

"Not love," Helga clarified. "Connection."

"Aren't they the same thing?"

"Sometimes. Most of the time, in fact, but not with them."

Rowena nodded. "We are most assuredly _not_ in love," she assured Godric.

"Oh." There was a moment of silence, then Godric stood. "Well, if I really do have you permission," he glanced at them. Helga shrugged, and Rowena sighed in resignation, but neither made a move to stop him. "Then I'll see about setting it up." He left the room, leaving Helga and Rowena alone together.

Helga smiled. "I really am glad you've decided to stay."

Rowena shrugged. "It was the lease I could do."

"You'll enjoy the festival, I promise."

Rowena frowned. "Just what _is_ this festival, anyway?"

Helga's smile turned into a full blown grin. "It's something of a tradition here. Every year at the end of May, the children show off what they've learned, both magically and not, and prizes are awarded. Then there's dancing and food and competitions for the adults… everyone has fun."

Rowena grinned back, unable to keep from being infected by Helga's enthusiasm. "I wouldn't miss it for the world," she assured her friend. "Will you be competing?"

Helga shrugged. "It depends," she said. "I might, if there are any fun competitions this year. You could, though. You'd win."

"Do you think so?" Rowena asked skeptically. "I'm not _that_ talented, you know."

"Of course you are," Helga replied firmly. "You're one of the most talented I've ever seen."

Rowena shook her head, pleased despite herself.

They sat in silence for a little while. Eventually, Rowena asked, "When you say the most skilled, just how skilled is that?"

Helga's grin faded perceptively, and she sighed. "Not nearly enough," she admitted. "Actually, the lack of skill is quite frankly appalling. It's not lack of talent, but there's no one here to teach them how to use it."

"Someone taught you," Rowena pointed out. She'd lived with Helga long enough by now to know that the other woman was more than competent.

Helga shrugged. "I got lucky. My father was taught by a traveling wizard when he was younger, and then he taught me."

Rowena nodded, wondering if it would be impolite to ask what had happened to Helga's father. Deciding that it would be, she said nothing.

"And you?" Helga asked suddenly. "Who taught you? Your parents?"

Rowena shook her head. "My parents aren't magical," she told Helga. "I had the same experience as your father. Salazar found me, rescued me, and taught me everything else."

Helga looked at her in surprise bordering on shock. "Your parents aren't wizards?"

Rowena shook her head.

"Does Salazar know?"

Rowena frowned in confusing. "Does it matter?"

Helga hesitated, then seemed to make up her mind. She shook her head. "No," she said softly. "No, it doesn't matter." She smiled at Rowena, then rose. "If you will excuse me." She left the room, closing the door behind her. Rowena looked after her, still frowning. Why did it matter who her parents were? Just that fact that she was a witch and they weren't didn't make her _that_ different, did it? Helga's words and grim expression flashed through her mind again. Maybe, she thought, as sinking feeling growing in her, maybe it did.

* * *

Rowena watched in growing horror as child after child attempted to levitate the pewter cauldron before them. None could do it, and she had to admit that Helga had been right. If a child of thirteen could not manage a simple levitation spell, then the wizarding world was in serious trouble. She clenched her fists as the last child walked up to the cauldron, willing herself not to look away. It would be inordinately rude to look away, she told herself over and over again, watching as the boy made his was over to the table where the cauldron rested.

He pointed a wand made of some very dark wood at the cauldron and closed his eyes, his lips moving soundlessly, making him look as though he was praying. There was a moment of tense silence, during which nothing happened, and then the cauldron rose, quivering, to hover momentarily before coming down again to rest on the table. The crowd erupted into cheers, and her flushed with the triumph of his success. Rowena found herself cheering as loudly as the others, all the while being appalled that this was the best Hogsmeade had to offer.

Beside her, Helga watched the happy champion proudly. "My nephew," she shouted over the roar of the crown. "Adarius Prewett."

Before Rowena could do more than nod, a little girl ran out of the crowd to embrace Adarius. He grinned at her and turned back to the cauldron, clearly intending to raise it up again. Sure enough, the cauldron lifted into the air. This time, instead of just dropping it back down to the table, he maneuvered it towards the girl, positioning it directly above her head. She laughed in delight, and he grinned hugely.

Rowena saw the exact moment when he lost control of the spell. His eyes widened in horror and his mouth twisted into a silent shriek. The cauldron wobbled and began to drop, gaining speed as it went. Rowena didn't stop to think about what she was doing. She shoved her way to the front of the crowd, silently ordering the metal cauldron to rise once more. The pot did as she asked, hanging inches away from the girl's head. Swiftly and silently, she sent it back to the table and set it down. Only when she was sure it was safe did she notice the dead silence around her. She realized with an uncomfortable jolt that everyone, even her friends, was staring at _her_. She flushed, looking down at her feet. One person began to cheer, and then another, and soon the entire village was cheering for her. One woman, presumably the girl's mother, came up to her and began thanking her profusely, while Adarius, who had migrated to her side, stared at her with wide, worshipful eyes. Rowena wanted nothing more than simply to vanish.

She finally managed to extract herself from the crowd and escape to the relative sanctuary of the tiny church. She sank down onto one of the benches, burying her head in her hands with sheer relief.

Salazar found her there, ten minutes later. He sat sown next to her, not saying anything, just offering his silent support. She didn't acknowledge his presence, but she didn't need to. He knew, just as she knew he had come to rescue her yet again.

Finally, she asked, "What are we going to do?"

He sighed. "What _can_ you do? You can't take them all with us."

"I know. But there must be _some_ way we can help them!"

He didn't answer, and she knew he felt the same way as she did. They sit in silence for a while longer, both thinking. As she relaxed, Rowena began to seriously consider the problem. The children needed to be taught; there were no two ways about it. But what could _she_ do? She was only one witch, and a young one at that. Even if she worked herself into utter exhaustion, she still wouldn't be able to bring them _all_ to where they should be. She bit her lip, considering. What could she do?

Salazar shifted beside her, and, as she turned to look at him, the solution to their dilemma hit her. Of course! There _wasn't_ just one of her, there were four of them! She berated herself for not having thought of it earlier. Salazar's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What are you planning?" he asked warily.

She grinned at him, full of unquenchable excitement. "We could do it," she told him. "The four of us. Together, we could teach the children of Hogsmeade."

Salazar's eyes widened. He looked at her for a long moment, then shook his head. "I think today's excitement touched your head," he told her bluntly. "What ever gave you the idea that _I_ would make a good teacher?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Stop it," she told him firmly. "I see right through your heartless bastard act. You would make a wonderful teacher."

He glowered at her. "Who ever said it was as act?" he wanted to know. "I truly _am_ heartless, though, as far as I know, I'm legitimate." His mouth twisted into a grimly mocking smile. "My mother was far too proud to sleep with anyone of lesser blood than herself, and we had no neighbors."

"Oh," Rowena said softly. She remembered her conversation with Helga earlier, and the fear flooded back. What if Salazar really _did_ consider her to be less than him because of her heritage. Would that affect their friendship? She didn't even want to consider the possibility,

"Have you even _talked_ to Helga and Godric about this?" Salazar asked, bringing her back to reality.

She shook her head. "I only just now came up with the idea, you know. I doubt they would object, though."

"Why don't you ask them first and _then_ come back to try to convince me."

"Convince you of what?" Both Rowena and Salazar turned to see Godric and Helga walking towards them. Rowena grinned at them and outlined her plan.

Godric was grinning in delight by the time she finished. "That's perfect!" he exclaimed excitedly. "We could make a school and the kids could learn to control their power. The situation right now is completely unacceptable, as we all saw. Why didn't _I_ think of it?"

Helga laughed, nodding her agreement. Rowena turned triumphantly back to Salazar. "You're outnumbered," she informed him.

Salazar sighed. "Do you even know what you're getting in to?" he demanded.

Godric and Helga nodded. "I'm the most talented witch in the village," Helga reminded him. "I've been tutoring them as much as I can. It doesn't work too well, unfortunately."

"Then why do you expect this to work now?" Salazar demanded.

"Controlled environment," Helga answered promptly. "When distractions are removed, people tend to learn what they're being taught."

Salazar sighed. "And just where do you we intend to put this institution."

Rowena grinned at his use of first person, but before she could answer, Helga's eyes closed and the blond witch stilled. Worried, Rowena reached out to touch her, but Salazar caught her hand. "Wait," he cautioned in a whisper. "She's seeing something."

Rowena frowned. "What?"

Before he could reply, Helga began to speak. Her voice came out harsh and grating, unlike her usual bell-like tones. "A school will rise, greater than any other. It will run for generations, each more powerful than the last. It will not fall until the need has ended or the darkness has triumphed. The names of its founders will live on forever, honored and revered by the generations to come."

Her eyes snapped open and she looked at them in confusion. Rowena's eyes moved to Helga's hand, which was rapidly being hidden by thick fog. Moment later, the fog vanished, replaced by a large crystal orb filled with milky fog. Helga looked at it, wincing. "What did I say?"

Gravely, Salazar recited the prophecy. When he finished, Helga turned towards Rowena. The blond woman was no smiling anymore, but her eyes were kind. "Congratulations Rowena. You have changed the course of history."

Godric drew his sword and held it up towards the sky. The sun streamed in through the window, sending dazzling shimmers shooting in all directions as it struck the ruby in the pommel. "Here, we witness the creation of history. May God witness this moment and may He place His blessing on the school and all who will come after us."

"Amen," Rowena answered automatically. Helga and Salazar echoed her, and they all looked at the light bouncing off the ruby. Rowena looked from one to the other, knowing as she did so that they had finally found their purpose.

9


	5. Chink in the wall

_Author's note: well, it's been far, far too long since we updated this. you may blame tamara for the delay. she's having a hard time with this story, so we can't promise any quick updates. but we're not going to give up on it. we really like the concept, and, anyway, we hate unfinished stories, and to let this one hang would make us hypocrites. we hate hypocrites...  
Disclaimer: JK Rowling didn't do nearly enough with Padma and Parvati, so it's up to us to remedy that. (translation: we're not her!)  
--kyra_

* * *

5: Chink in the wall

Padma couldn't help thinking of the look in Malfoy's eyes as he gazed on Slytherin's locket. Something about his desperate expression struck a chord in her, and she wanted to know more. It wasn't just that she wanted to have blackmail power over him, though, considering the way he'd been acting, that would have been nice. She truly was worried, and, not only that, she was curious. As Parvati often remarked, that was a bad combination in any Ravenclaw, especially Padma.

Like any decent Ravenclaw, she headed first to the library. After all, anything not written was hardly worth knowing, right? Or, at least, not worth worrying about. So she sat in the library, looking through books, finding out all she could about Slytherin and his legacy. Having long ago passed into Madam Pince's good graces, she spent most of her time in the restricted section, delving far more deeply into the shady past of Hogwarts' most disreputable House than she had ever wanted to. Nothing that she found was pleasant, and she soon wished she had far less curiosity and far more sense. But she was too proud to admit defeat, and so she plowed on, reading of obscure ceremonies and repulsive customs that had at one time or another been commonplace in the House of Snake.

Unfortunately, morbidly fascinating as it all was, none of it helped her. By the time she emerged that night, scared for life and swearing never to enter the restricted section ever again, she knew nothing more than she had when she first entered. Basically, it was a day wasted. Still, she wasn't about to give up. With the library having failed her, she turned to the next most exhaustive source of information she knew of: her sister.

"So you're telling me that you want me to delve into the personal history of the Prince of Slytherin, dig through his memories, and tell you why he's scared of a locket."

Padma nodded.

Parvati scowled. "And you think I can do this _why_?"

Padma shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe that you've managed to insinuate yourself into every house, including that one, far too thoroughly over the past six years? Don't you have any minions in Slytherin."

"Define minions."

Sensing a victory, Padma grinned. "People who will do anything for you because they want you to sleep with them."

Parvati snorted. "Your definition is very different from mine, obviously."

"What's yours, then?"

"People who will do anything for me _without_ needing sex as a reward."

Padma shrugged again. "Either way. I assume you have some of both."

Parvati closed her eyes, sorting through her mental catalog of connections. Padma failed to understand how Parvati could keep them all straight, but, then, she wasn't her sister.

"I do it the same way you memorize the Ravenclaw library's card catalog." Parvati spoke without opening her eyes, making Padma's scowl completely ineffective.

"Stop _doing_ that!"

"Stop doing what?"

"Reading my thoughts like that. It's not natural."

Parvati cracked open one eye to gift her twin with a look of crushing belittlement. "This is _Hogwarts_, Padma. Did you _expect_ anything to be natural?"

"No one _else_ can read my mind."

Parvati sighed and propped her hands on her hips, opening her eyes all the way. "First of all, I'm not reading your thoughts. Secondly, other people certainly could, and, thirdly, I've lived with you for longer than either of us can remember. You think I don't know how you think by now?"

Padma's scowl deepened, but Parvati cut her off. "Do you want my help or not?"

Padma sighed. "I do."

"Then you'd better stop mocking my ways and appreciate me."

"Do you want me to get down on my knees and lick your feet?"

"Certainly not. But you can swear eternal obedience if you wish."

Padma eyed her sister through narrowed eyes. "Would I regret that?"

"Almost certainly."

"Then I'll settle for doing your homework for you."

Parvati's eyes widened in comic shock. "_You_, the pride of Ravenclaw, offering to _cheat_ on my homework? Is such a thing possible?"

"I _do _have other ways of getting information, you know."

"Then you don't need me. I'll just go back to the common room. Lav and I were working on a new shade of pink."

Padma scowled. "It constantly amazes me that you manage to maintain your academic prowess while still engaging in such childish foolishness."

Parvati grinned. "Doesn't it just? And by the way? Big words are like chocolate: a little bit is wonderful, but it's easily overused."

"Be quiet."

"Just making a suggestion. Nowhere did I say you have to _follow_ my advice."

"No. You just think it really loudly."

"See? You _can_ read my mind!"

Padma sighed. "Will you ask about Malfoy or not?"

"I'll ask, but only this once."

"Do I want to know who you're going to ask?"

"Probably not."

"Who is it?"

"Who else? The very jewel of the House, Pansy Parkinson."

Padma chocked. "_Pansy_?! Have you gone completely _mad_?!"

Parvati tossed her hair. "She's been crazy about me since the Yule Ball," she informed her sister loftily. "And I was getting bored with the others anyway."

"Tell me you never…" Padma trailed off, regarding her sister in horror.

"No, I never did anything. I have _some_ standards, after all."

"Oh, good. But she'll still tell you?"

"She will indeed. She will tell me anything I ask, if I do it in the proper manner."

"Then please do it."

Parvati sighed. "My my, you _are_ demanding, aren't you?"

"I'm _your_ sister. Isn't it required?"

Parvati scowled. "Don't make me hex you," she warned.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Padma assured her sister, straight faced. "Shall I leave you to your prying?"

"I'll see you at dinner." With that, she tossed her hair and sauntered away, hopefully to get in a private word with Pansy Parkinson.

* * *

"I wasn't expecting _that_," Padma said, leaning back, a cup of hot chocolate in her hands. Parvati, next to her, held an identical cup filled with tea. As she relaxed, Padma couldn't help loving the Room of Requirement. It really did think of everything, even down to cinnamon for Padma and milk for Parvati.

"I wasn't either," Parvati agreed, taking a sip from her cup. She'd dragged her sister to the Room after dinner, saying that she didn't feel like talking in front of the entire school. Considering the wisdom she'd imparted, Padma didn't blame her.

"So now what?"

Parvati shrugged. "I'm sure I don't know," she said loftily. "_I'm_ not the one who was so desperate to know."

Padma glared, though she wasn't nearly as good at it as Parvati, who practiced in her mirror. "You wanted to know just as badly as I did. Don't tell me you didn't."

Parvati flapped a hand. "I didn't want to know."

"Of course you did. You can't resist gossip."

"Fine. I wanted to know. But that doesn't mean I have to _do_ anything, you know. It just means that I wanted to know."

"You don't feel obligated to help him?"

"Of course I don't! He's a Slytherin and an idiot. Not to mention his utter failure as a boyfriend."

"You didn't. Please tell me you didn't… You did, didn't you?"

"I did _not_! I got it from Pansy."

Padma breathed out a sigh of relief. "Thank you!" she said earnestly. "I couldn't have taken it if you'd kissed him."

"I didn't say anything about his prowess as a kisser," Parvati pointed out. "Just about his lack of skills in the boyfriend department."

"Pansy?" Padma begged.

"Pansy," Parvati assured her.

"Good. So you don't even feel sorry for him?"

"Of course I feel _sorry_ for him. I feel sorry for a great many people, including both Harry Potter and You-Know-Who. That doesn't meant I feel the need to help them."

"You feel _sorry_ for the Dark Lord?!"

"Of course I do. Don't you?"

"No."

Parvati shook her head, making that irritating 'tsk' noise between her teeth. Padma glowered. Parvati laughed slightly. "Never mind. I can see that you won't agree with me on this one."

"No, I won't," Padma growled. "He's _evil_, Parvati!"

"I never said he wasn't."

"You implied it!"

Parvati was at her side before Padma could blink, her wand out and her eyes blazing. "Now you listen here," she said, her voice low and furious. "I hate him as much as you do! I've seen what he does to people, seen what evil he spreads. Don't forget, I was _there_ when they came back from the ministry last year! I was there to see first hand the consequences. _Don't_ lecture me about my opinions about this. I've lived my entire life knowing that he could come back, just as much as you have. More, even. _I'm_ the one in the same House as Harry Potter. _I'm_ the one who shares a dormitory with Hermione Granger. Don't you _dare_ tell me who he is, understand?"

Padma, slightly shaken by her twin's uncharacteristic outburst, nodded. Parvati retreated, picking up her cup of tea and drinking deeply from it. "Good."

Padma followed Parvati's example, not meeting her sister's eyes. They sat in uncomfortable silence for a long moment before Parvati rose once more. "If you don't need anything else from me, then I'll just be going." She headed towards the door, her back stiff and her stride deliberate.

"Wait!"

She turned back, not looking at Padma.

"I'm sorry. You know I am. I didn't mean it. I just wasn't thinking. I'm sorry!"

Parvati nodded. "I know you are. But next time, think first." A slight grin crossed her face, and Padma let out a breath of relief. "Ironic, isn't it, that the Gryffindor is telling that to the Ravenclaw. Usually it's the other way around."

Padma laughed, a little shakily. "Yeah, it is," she agreed.

"See you tomorrow."

"See you."

Parvati left, and Padma turned back to the fire, sipping her cup of chocolate and wondering what she was going to do.

* * *

Padma looked at Malfoy as they climbed the stairs to meet the others. She still hadn't done anything with the information Parvati had imparted, though she'd whispered it to Susan the next time she'd seen the blond girl. Susan, being Susan, hadn't seemed very surprised.

"It was coming," she said. Padma had to agree with her. Even so, she couldn't help watching Malfoy as he walked, wondering what it must be like, knowing that one's own father planned on sacrificing one to the Dark Lord. Well, not literally, but definitely figuratively. After all, what were Death Eaters but willing sacrificial victims?

Finally, Malfoy turned towards her, his sneering face telling her just how much he appreciated the attention. "Am I _that_ pretty that you can't keep your eyes off me?"

Padma closed her eyes, controlling the urge to insult him. She was supposed to be the responsible one. Being told to think before she spoke by her twin had opened her eyes a little, and she was determined to follow Parvati's advice.

"No. I'm wondering how you can bear it."

He scowled at her. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about. Cut out the Ravenclaw metaphors and say what you mean."

She met his eyes for the first time. "I know about your father."

He stilled, not even breathing. "What do you know?" he demanded roughly.

"All of it."

He scrambled to put his scowl back in place, but it wasn't quite as powerful as the one before it had been. "Bet you feel sorry for me now, don't you? Well, I don't need any of your pity! I'll do my duty to my father and to the Dark Lord and I don't need _you_ crying about it!" His voice rose to an almost hysterical shriek, completely belaying his words.

"I don't feel sorry for you," she informed him flatly. "I wouldn't bother if I just felt sorry for you."

"Oh? That why even bring it up? Did you want to rub it in my face?"

"No. I wanted to tell you that I admire your strength. And I wanted to tell you that you don't need to be alone." It was hard to say it. She still loathed him, still hated him for how he treated Susan and Harry. But, despite what she'd said, she did feel sorry for him, and she did admire his strength. It couldn't be easy, having no one. And, since no one else seemed about to offer their support, she knew she had to be the one to do it, the one to take that first step.

He didn't answer, staring at her as though he couldn't believe what he was hearing. She smiled slightly at him and continued up the stairs, leaving him standing in the middle of the staircase, eyes wide with disbelief and, more powerfully, the faintest glimmer of hope.


	6. Beginning

_author's note: yes, it took forever to get this chapter out. we're so, so sorry. we had the worst case of writer's block ever for most of the summer, and then school happened... i'm sure you all know about school...  
Disclaimer: we're not jk rowling, sillies! we're space aliens! -runs around trying to locate space ship-_  
_--kyra_

* * *

6: Beginning

Rowena looked at the half-constructed castle with deep satisfaction. It was happening. It was really happening. Their idea – _her_ idea – was rapidly becoming a reality. They'd talked right away to the mayor of Hogsmeade, who was so gratefully enthusiastic that it made Rowena a little uncomfortable. It was quite clear that their status was rapidly rising to one something akin to guardian angels, and she just hoped that they wouldn't disappoint. She knew enough about being a worker of miracles to know that the miracles had to be genuine and worthwhile. It hadn't been easy before; it would be harder now.

"It's really coming, isn't it?"

Rowena turned to see that Godric had come up behind her, his hand on the pommel of his sword and his face alight with his boyish grin. She grinned back, unable to resist being drawn in by his enthusiasm.

"Yes, yes it is. At this rate, it might almost be done in time to open next fall."

They both turned back to the construction site, which teamed with eager volunteers. Though the four had started building on their own, aided by magic and pure hard labor, now they had more helpers than they knew what to do with, and Godric's people skills were used far more than his muscles, though the latter were still called for on a regular basis. Rowena hadn't expected him to be such a good manager, but his ability to get people to listen and obey had proved priceless.

Her thoughts turned of their own volition towards what would happen once the castle was done. They would have to think hard about how to work this properly. Most families wouldn't want their children gone all year, so they couldn't live in the castle, but they would still have to spend the majority of their time there in order to fully appreciate what Rowena and her friends were teaching them. And then there was the future beyond that. She didn't know if it had occurred to any of the others, but if the school was a success, they would have to start thinking about expanding it. After all, Hogsmeade wasn't the only town in Britain to have wizards and witches with children. And then there were the children like her, the ones whose parents weren't magical and who had no idea what was happening to them. They would have to be taught was well, would have to be told what they really were. Helga's prophecy flashed through her head once more: _It will run for generations, each more powerful than the last._ They had a big job ahead of them.

* * *

"Almost done!"

Godric relaxed in the shade of the almost completed castle, his sapphire blue eyes looking out towards the forest. Rowena, a little ways away, nodded.

"Now we start thinking about the students," Salazar pointed out. He'd chosen to remain standing, but he was leaning slightly against the heavy stone outer wall. His robes rustled slightly in the wind. "Or do you expect to suddenly have a flash of inspiration the night before the first day?"

Godric laughed. "No, I'm expecting to have it that morning."

Rowena rolled her eyes. "That's all very well for you," she pointed out. "You have charisma to go along with ability. The rest of us don't have that luxury."

Salazar raised an eyebrow. "You are implying that I am lacking in the charisma department?" he asked.

"I am indeed. Don't even try to deny it."

Godric snorted. "Oh he has charisma. The kind that shouts out, 'stay well away from me.'"

"Very funny," Salazar replied dryly. "I am capable of being approachable when I wish to be."

"Really? Who would have thought?"

Helga shook her head. "There are days when you'd think the two of them weren't the best of friends," she remarked softly to Rowena.

"We're not." They two women turned their grins on Salazar, who had excellent hearing.

"You just keep telling yourself that," Rowena agreed, still grinning. "You might even get us to believe it."

"You wound me," he told her, moving away slightly. "Implying that I would get along with a over-the-top show off like _him_."

Godric grimaced. "What about _me_?" he complained. "You're saying that _I'm_ friends with a slimy git! Give me credit for _some_ taste!"

Helga snorted softly. "I was wrong," she announced. "You're not friends." She grinned at their triumphant expressions. "You're brothers." She turned away as they began to protest.

Salazar turned to Rowena, who was having a hard time keeping in her laughter. "Well?" he demanded. "Aren't you going to defend me?"

"Why?" she asked, crossing her arms. "She's right."

"I am fairly certain I am an only child," he pointed out.

She shrugged. "Whatever you say," she agreed. She glanced at the almost finished castle. "Now, I think I'll leave you two and go check on the progress being made." She waved at them, then made her own way down the gentle hill to the construction site.

From the outside, it looked completely finished. No longer did it swarm with eager volunteers; now everyone was inside, collaborating to help with the magical aspect of the place. Disregarding the necessary precautions against being discovered by non-magical people, they'd all decided that there wasn't much point in having a magical school if the students couldn't be properly impressed by what they could do with their learning. To that effect, they'd commissioned moving portraits, something that was still a bit of a fascination to the children who couldn't be kept away from the site. But they'd decided that they needed something more than pictures, something that would shout out, 'Magic is the best thing since the wheel' to anyone who came in. They still hadn't quite decided what it would be yet, but Rowena was sure that it would be perfect. The four of them worked too well together for it to be anything other than spectacular.

She found Helga in one of the classrooms, talking animatedly with another woman. She paused when Rowena entered, grinning. "I was just wishing you were here. This is Anabella Potter. Anabella, this is Rowena Ravenclaw. This entire marvel was her idea." Helga gestured at the room, then laughed as Rowena blushed.

Anabella eyed Rowena for a moment, then grinned. "Very pleased to meet you," she said. Her quiet voice contained the slightest trace of an accent Rowena couldn't place. "You've become quite the celebrity."

Rowena ducked her head. "I didn't do anything much," she murmured. "Someone else would have thought of it sooner or later."

"But none with the ability to realize it in such a… grandiose manner."

Helga grinned at Rowena's discomfort, then, to the copper skinned woman's relief, changed the subject. "So how are things in the village? I haven't had time to catch up on anything, what with the work here and planning for this fall."

Anabella launched into a detailed description of the doings of people Rowena had never heard of. She seemed to be an infinite source of gossip, and Helga accepted it all with a kind of greedy relief Rowena had never seen on her friend. She hadn't realized how cut off Helga was feeling here. 'Of course she would be,' Rowena scolded herself. 'She's not used to being away from home for so long. You'd feel the same way.'

Maybe so, but she soon tired of Anabella's news, and began wondering if it would be rude to slip away. Helga caught her eye and grinned slightly, nodding subtly towards the door. Rowena understood: Helga wouldn't be disappointed if she left. Flashing her friend a look of pure gratitude, Rowena quietly took her leave of the two women.

She went back to the Great Hall of the castle, sitting down in one of the chairs set up at intervals around the walls. Technically they were for the workers, but no one else was in this room right now. She leaned back, closing her eyes as she tried to envisage what the room would look like in the fall. Students would be entering from all sides, talking loudly, each pushing for their favorite spots. Maybe she would join them occasionally, just to keep up with what they were doing. Salazar had insisted on a High Table for the four of them, but he'd never said they would have to sit there. Knowing Godric, Rowena suspected that she wouldn't be the only one sitting at the students' tables more often than not.

She opened her eyes again, looking around the room. Deserted as it was, it looked immense, and the highly domed ceiling only served to heighten the effect. And, suddenly, it came to her. Their spectacular piece of magic. The thing that would impress students more than anything else. She stood, eager to share her idea with the others.

* * *

"Are you sure this will work?" Rowena, as usual, was the first to voice any hesitation.

"It was your idea, wasn't it?" Salazar wanted to know. "Surely _you_ should be confident about this, at least."

"Just because it was my idea doesn't mean I know it'll work," she replied dryly. "In case you haven't noticed, ideas tend to work a lot better in one's mind than in person."

"Relax," Godric assured her. "Salazar here did the research. He found a spell that should do it, no trouble."

Rowena nodded, trying to relax. This was stupid. Salazar was right. This was her idea. She'd _seen_ Salazar's research, had tested the spell herself on a piece of parchment. It worked. There was no doubt about that fact. Yet, as she looked up at the ceiling of the Great Hall, she couldn't help feeling _extremely_ apprehensive. It was so much bigger than the single piece of parchment she'd used as a guinea pig.

Helga put a hand on her arm. "Don't worry," she said confidently. "We can do it."

"You've Seen it happen?" Rowena hoped the answer would be yes. That would alleviate her fears, somewhat.

Helga grinned. "No," she admitted. "But I have faith that I would have if I'd asked."

Rowena grimaced. That was much less reassuring. Still, she couldn't very well back out now. She took a deep breath. "I'm ready."

Godric nodded, immediately holding his wand out in front of him. He was taking the lead, as usual. Rowena didn't feel the slightest bit jealous of that role. He'd offered, out of respect, to let her lead the spell, but she'd refused him immediately. She just didn't have his steady strength, didn't have that quality that dispelled fears in everyone around her. She was content just to follow him.

"Everyone touch wands," he ordered softly. They all stepped forward, they wands extending until they were all connected. Rowena felt a tingling in her wand arm as the combined power of all the wands met. "Concentrate." She closed her eyes, visualizing the desired end result.

Godric spoke a word, his voice suddenly loud and commanding. It rung through the entire room, the echoes making it seem louder and louder until it almost made the floor vibrate. Rowena had to fight to keep her concentration. Finally, Godric's voice died away. Now came the hard part. Rowena opened her eyes, focusing on her wand. She started to will her power into the spell, started ordering it out of her. It didn't want to go; it fought her, trying to stay inside. She bit her lip, forcing her will on it. Slowly, too slowly, it began to obey, slithering reluctantly down her arm and out into her wand. Her bit down harder, this time forcing her will back on herself, ordering herself not to call it back. She had to give it up for this. They'd all agreed; it was necessary. But it was _hard_! Her magic was a part of her, a part just as vital as her heart or her lungs. Even before she'd known what it was she'd needed it.

She didn't dare take her eyes off her wand, but she knew that the others were all silently struggling as much as she was. But none of them faltered, and, finally, it was done. Gordic's voice, sealing the spell into place for eternity, was hoarse, as though he'd been screaming, but he didn't stumble. Only when he'd finished did they dare look up at each other. Looking into their eyes, Rowena saw a pain that she knew must be reflected in her own face. They'd all given up a part of themselves today. It would come back, in time, but it would never be the same.

She raised her eyes to the ceiling, which now gleamed the same vibrant blue as the sky outside. It had worked. That was a relief. She didn't think she could bear giving up so much of herself for something that hadn't even held properly.

"It's beautiful." Godric sounded oddly reverent, as though he were looking upon something holy.

Rowena nodded. "We did it."

The other two didn't say anything. They didn't need to. There was nothing more to be said.

Without speaking, they put their wands away and turned to leave the room. Halfway to the door, Rowena felt the exhaustion kick in. She stumbled, unable even to save herself. Only Salazar's hands, reaching out instantly, saved her from striking the ground. She nodded her thanks, straightening again with an effort. She smiled tiredly, thanking him for his save. He nodded and withdrew his grip. Though he didn't look bad, the way he let his arms flop back to his sides told her he was as exhausted as she. Godric had warned them that this might happen, but a warning wasn't anything like experiencing it for themselves. Rowena doubted that any of them would be up to doing any major magical castings for quite a while.

They parted company at the door, each going to the room they'd chosen to live it. Rowena fell into her bed the moment she reached it.

She woke hours later, to a dark world. Night had fallen hours ago, and everything was quiet. She didn't feel tired anymore, though she wasn't up to anything even remotely physical. Still, she loathed lying sleepless in bed, so she sat up. She would go back to the Great Hall, she decided. She wanted to see the ceiling at nighttime, wanted to see the stars shining down on her.

Helga's room was on the way to the Great Hall, and the door was open. Rowena didn't _mean_ to look in, but she couldn't help it. Helga wasn't alone. Another body lay in the bed with her. Rowena hurried on, biting her still sore lip and telling herself that it didn't matter.


	7. Sins of the Father

_Author's note: we did warn you that it would be a while before we updated again. -grins- we hope you haven't lost interest and gone on to bigger and better things. if you have, we hope that the sight of a story alert in your inbox would be enough to lure you back. and, if it is not, well, there is not much we can do, is there?  
Disclaimer: checklist: write chapters, write essay, talk to friends, pretend to be jk rowling, remind readers to note the word 'pretend' in preceding entry...  
--kyra  
P.S. Those of you who can pick out the Twilight Movie reference I used will get a cyber cookie. Or maybe even two!  
--Tamara

* * *

_

7: Sins of the Father

None were more surprised than Padma when, only two days after their meeting with Dumbledore, Malfoy voluntarily sought her out. He did it when no one was watching, of course, but word spread like mad at Hogwarts, and by dinner that night, everyone knew of it. Most people decided, for no apparent reason, that this meant that Malfoy and Padma had a secret passion for each other, and Padma eventually had to cast a personal ward around herself to keep off the jeering crowds. Only two people seemed above petty rumors and gossip: Parvati, who knew Padma far too well, and Susan. Padma spent an interesting hour in Arithmancy trying to decide whether Susan simply disapproved of gossip or whether she truly did not believe any of it. Padma hoped it would be the latter, but she knew she could never ask. It just wasn't the kind of thing one asked one's friend, especially a friend like Susan.

Of course, Padma herself had no real idea as to why Malfoy had voluntarily sought out her company either. He hadn't actually _said_ anything, only greeted her almost civilly in passing and requested a private meeting at some later date. Padma, not sure whether to be happy or suspicious, had agreed to the meeting, and now all she could do was wait. It didn't do her nerves any good.

"It's no good dwelling on it," Susan instructed her day after day. "He'll let you know when he wants to see you."

"I know _that_!" Padma agreed. "I just wish I knew _why_!"

Susan looked at her shrewdly. "Does it perhaps have anything to do with your conversation on the stairs last week?"

Padma looked sharply at her friend, who shrugged, not ashamed in the least.

Padma sighed. "That's almost what I'm hoping for. That, at least would make sense."

"Oh? You think?"

Padma nodded. "Of course. He probably wants to swear me to silence or something."

"You don't think he just wants to ask for help?"

Padma snorted. "Oh, please Susan. Remember who we're discussing. This is _Malfoy_. He would never ask _me_ for help! After you and Harry, I'm the last person he considers worthy."

"Then why didn't he just hex you in the stairs?"

To that, Padma had no answer, and she did not even attempt to BS her way out of it. Instead, she turned away, going back to her Arithmancy work. Susan, being Susan, didn't press her, for which Padma was infinitely grateful.

She spent the next two days fluctuating between irritation at the rumors and apprehension about the rumors. Harry didn't make things any better, and she began actively avoiding him. Every time she saw him, it seemed, he would make nasty remarks about Malfoy, and Padma was surprised to find how much that annoyed her. Of course she knew how the two boys felt about each other, but it seemed incredibly childish now. Couldn't they just get along?

She shook her head at that, grimacing at her own folly. Of course they couldn't 'just get along.' They were polar opposites. It was silly of her to try to change that. To distract herself from such foolishness, she turned back to her studying, turning the page of the book she was reading and pausing to jot down a meticulous note.

She was distracted by a tapping sound on the window. She – along with many other students, all of whom had been similarly knocked out of their states of scholarly contemplation – looked up to see a small black owl tapping impatiently at the glass. Luna, being the closest to the window, stood up and moved towards the window, her book in one hand. She opened the window to let the owl in, then turned and looked directly at Padma. Padma frowned. There was no reason to think that the owl was for her! None at all! It was probably just a coincidence.

The owl dropped a note in her lap.

Padma sighed, wondered how Luna could possibly have known, decided that it wasn't worth worrying about, and took the letter. The owl took off again and soared through the still open window. Luna shut the panes behind the owl, locking them into place once more. She sat back down, returning to her book. The other Ravenclaws returned to their tasks as well, leaving Padma ignored as she opened the letter.

_Meet me in Potter's hidden room tonight before dinner._

_D. Malfoy_

Padma read it a second time, frowning slightly. Potter's secret room must be the Room of Requirement, but how did Malfoy know about that? She sighed. She would probably never know how he knew – certainly _he_ would never tell her. So she would have to suppress her natural curiosity and go.

Luna drifted over towards her, face set perfectly into an expression of bland disinterest. Frowning, Padma covered the note with her book, setting her mind back to her studying with a ferocity that was odd even for her.

Luna smiled. "You don't have to hide it," she told Padma, taking the empty chair across from the older girl. Padma noticed that Luna still held her book. "I know what it says."

Padma frowned. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said stiffly.

Luna only looked serenely at her. "You're a good person for talking to him," she informed Padma, for all the world as though she had just complimented the older girl on a well written paper.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Padma insisted, but her voice sounded slightly weak to her own ears.

Luna shrugged, unconcerned. "He needs friends. He doesn't know it yet, but he does." She smiled. "And you need to get to know him too." She stood once again. "I'll see you at lunch." Nodding slightly, Luna headed for the door to the common room, stepping through it and vanishing around the corner, leaving Padma completely speechless in her wake.

* * *

Padma turned sharply, beginning her third trip in front of the blank wall that would soon turn into the door to the Room of Requirement. 'I need to talk to Malfoy,' she thought firmly. 'He told me to meet him here, and I need to talk to him.'

She smiled slightly as the door appeared in front of her eyes. Then her smile faded as full realization hit her. This was crazy. It really was. She suddenly realized that all of her frustration with Harry's inability to get along with Malfoy was just a way of expressing her own hesitation. She did not _want_ to talk to him. She did not _want_ to have to deal with him at _all_. But she had to. She had come this far, and she had to see it through. She would never be able to live it down if she turned around now. She opened the door.

He did not turn as she entered, but she knew that he had registered her presence. She closed the door behind her, then paused, awkward.

"Are you going to stand there all night?"

She scowled at the sarcasm in his voice, but did not answer. Instead, she stepped farther into the room and selected an armchair, sitting down cautiously. He still did not look at her. The silence stretched on and on until she felt almost compelled to break it.

"Well? Are _you_ going to keep me waiting all night? I'd like to catch at least the end of dinner, if you don't mind."

Now he did turn to face her, his expression bitterly humorous. "My apologies. I did not mean to keep you from you supper. I fear that I must have been imagining things when I imagined that saying 'you don't need to be alone' meant that you were offering your own time. Please excuse the misunderstanding and feel free to leave. Far be it from me to keep you from the gourmet meal awaiting you."

Padma winced. That had cut deep. "That's not what I meant," she muttered.

He met her eyes at last. "Then please enlighten me as to what you did mean. I would truly hate to begin this with a misunderstanding."

"If I knew what you were beginning, I'd know if you were misunderstanding me," Padma pointed out, a little dryly.

He sighed. "All right. I have asked you here to discuss the matter you cornered me about last week. Do you need any more information to decide whether this is worth your time or no?"

She scowled. "Stop it," she snapped. "If you don't start acting like you _want_ me to be here, then I _will_ leave. Allow me to remind you that it was _you_, not me, who requested this meeting."

"So it was. Does that mean that you will hear me out?"

"If you start now I will."

He sighed slightly and settled back into his armchair. Padma steeled herself for a long speech; he seemed to be making himself comfortable, which meant he intended to stay for a while. "Very well. Precisely what do you know?"

Padma considered the many ways she could answer this. She knew what he was talking about, of course, but she disliked his imperious assumption that she could read his mind. "I before E except after C. Always carry your wand in your front pocket. Unicorns only approach virgins. 1.7724…"

"I do not care that you know the square root of pi," he snapped.

She blinked. "You knew that?" she demanded.

He sneered at her. "Not _all_ Slytherins are brainless thugs," he informed her crisply. "And now it is you who is being deliberately obtuse, not me."

She sighed. "I'm sorry," she said. "But you did have it coming."

He did not dignify this with a response, though he did look slightly startled at her apology. Padma supposed that he probably did not get them often. "So, to rephrase my question, since you seem to need prompting, what do you know about what is happening between my father and myself?"

Padma sighed. "Only that he wants to make you a Death Eater," she admitted.

He nodded. "That is common knowledge, I assume," he muttered.

She shook her head. "No, not really."

He frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said it isn't really common knowledge," Padma repeated.

"I heard what you said," he said waspishly. "I was merely wondering how such a thing could have been kept private. Surely there are rumors."

Padma waved this away. "There will always be rumors," she informed him. "Recently, they feature the two of us embracing passionately in an empty classroom while we attempt to rip the clothes of each other." She snorted slightly. "All the Malfoy-as-a-Death-Eater rumors seem to have subsided under the weight of the Malfoy-and-Padma-as-Secret-Lovers ones."

He too snorted. "Ah the shallowness of youth," he said cryptically.

"Adults are just as shallow as youths," Padma pointed out. "And you seem to have gone fairly far astray from your original point which was, I believe, telling me just what else there is to your… problem."

"Problem," he repeated incredulously. "Yes, I suppose you could call it that. You could also call Potter's hatred for the Dark Lord a childish grudge. It would be approximately as accurate."

Padma shrugged. "So enlighten me," she said. "Teach me how much bigger this is."

He sighed and shifted once more in his seat. "Very well. I warn you, I may yet cause you to miss your meal."

She scowled. "Get on with it," she snapped. "You asked for my help, I'm here. Anyone would think you didn't _want_ me here."

"I did not, in fact, expect you to come," he said honestly.

"Then you don't know either my curiosity or my morals," she informed him tightly. "Get on with it."

"You are correct, I do not know you. Which, perhaps, is why I decided to tell you this. Know that you are the first person I have told."

She growled. "Spare the theatrics," she said shortly. "I don't go in for melodrama."

"I am not being melodramatic," he informed her. "I am merely telling you that you should feel flattered."

"Yes, yes, I feel flattered," she said, growing more and more frustrated with every word that came out of his mouth. "Now _get on with it_!"

He shook his head. "You are quite impatient, aren't you?"

She stood. "Okay, that's that. You clearly don't want my help. I'm going to get dinner while I still can." She headed for the door.

She had almost reached it when his voice stopped her. "I apologize. I have behaved badly. Please, don't leave. I will tell you."

Slowly, she turned. He was once more not looking at her, but the polished arrogance of his voice had vanished. She was not quite sure what had replaced it, but it was definitely preferable. "You'll spare any commentary?"

He nodded.

She sat back down again, looking straight at him. "So what's wrong?"

"It begins with my father," Malfoy said after a slight pause. "As I'm sure you have deduced. My father… my father is a hard man. Life has taught him that he will never be given anything; he must take it. You may think that things are handed to us on a silver platter, but you are mistaken. We work for everything we have, and then we work to keep it."

Padma could not repress a skeptical lift of her eyebrows, and he shrugged. "I said you may not believe it," he repeated. "And, granted, our definition of 'work' might not quite fit yours, but that is immaterial. What matters is that a lifetime of having to take everything he wanted by force or trickery has left my father a bitter man. When the Dark Lord surfaced the first time, he seemed to be a dream come true for my father. Finally, here was a man who understood, a man who sympathized with my father's dreams and who gave him what he needed. There was a price, of course, but there is always a price. We have always known this. In this case, the price happened to be lifetime servitude."

He paused, then shook his head. "My father would have been a fool not to accept, and, despite his many faults, a fool he is not. He took the offer, and quickly rose in the ranks until he was the Dark Lord's most trusted servant. There he remained until the Dark Lord made his one fatal mistake: he tried to kill Potter."

He stopped again, regarding her sardonically. "Need I repeat the story for your benefit?"

"No," Padma said. "I know the story."

"Good. As I was saying, after that, things rapidly began deteriorating for my father. He went from being a trusted official to a pariah in mere months. Worse, much worse, in fact, was the loss of the Dark Lord's trust. Without the Dark Lord's power, my father was back to where he had been before: a hated, condemned man, one whom no one would welcome into their homes or invite to dinner. This was hard on him. He had gotten accustomed to being treated with respect, to being feared, and this sudden loss of status did not suit him in the least."

Malfoy shrugged. "So he found ways to show it."

Padma, guessing where this was going, gasped in horror, her eyes flying across Malfoy's form to try and find marks of old beatings. He shook his head impatiently. "Not via me," he said crisply. She relaxed slightly, then frowned. She opened her mouth to ask, then closed it. He would get to it in his own time… she hoped.

"He made enemies of the few friends he still had, and, after he had managed to acquit himself of any blame for his nefarious activities in the name of the Dark Lord, not even his former comrades in arms would associate with him. He had broken ranks, and so he was no longer one of them. The first few years were… difficult." Malfoy laughed harshly. "Which is as accurate as any other description, if rather too mild. To put in bluntly, he went through Hell. Unfortunately for me, he reemerged on the other side."

Padma frowned. "Unfortunately?" she asked.

He nodded tersely. "You don't think that going through Hell leaves you unscathed, do you?" he demanded.

"No, but…"

"But nothing," he snapped. "I will admit, my father was not the most loving man you could ever have found, but he respected my mother and myself. After he returned from his jaunt to the darker side of existence, he lost even that. He became the wildly self-obsessed man you now know. I am not saying he lacked in pride before, mind you, for he did not, but it was… shall we say subtle. After he returned from Hell, he lost all senses of the meaning of the word subtlety. He no longer hinted, he demanded. And the one from whom he demanded the most was, of course, myself."

He shrugged. "He demanded, I produced. I knew nothing else. You would not understand, of course, having no doubt experienced the kind of warm, loving childhood one reads about in child's stories."

Padma, remembering her mother's perfectionist attitude, snorted at this. "You could also say that Harry and You-Know-Who are best friends," she said, rolling her eyes. "But do go on."

He frowned momentarily, then shook his head. "Regardless, the fact remains that, ever since I entered school, I have been expected to be perfect. As I am sure you delight in noticing, I am not." He made a face. "It has… well, sticking with our euphemisms, I shall say that it is not appreciated at home. My father has recently taken it into his mind to 'improve my character.' Such improvements include, as you are obviously aware, an induction into the Delightful Society of Mass Murders which most people know as Death Eaters. And therein lies my problem: I, unlike my sire, have no taste for such things. Unfortunately, I do not have a choice. No, I am wrong. I do have a choice, it is just not one I like: I can accept my 'destiny,' as my father puts it, or I can accept a 'fate worse than death,' as has often been threatened."

Padma frowned. "So what do you expect me to do about it?" she wanted to know.

He considered this. "Quite frankly, nothing."

"So you just needed to vent?" she guessed.

Turning away once more, he nodded. She sighed. "And did it help?"

He glanced up at her, one eyebrow raised in skeptical irony. "Are you a psychiatrist now?" he wanted to know.

She crossed her arms, feeling oddly smug. "You never know," she said. "I might just try it."

He shook his head. "I don't advise it as a career path," he informed her. "It's not nearly as glamorous as it sounds."

"I wasn't aware that psychiatrists were viewed as being glamorous."

He shrugged. "It depends on who you are, I suppose. I can remember being quite enthralled the first time I…" Abruptly he stopped. "Never mind."

"You've been to see a psychiatrist?" She leaned forward, wondering just how far she could push him.

"I _said_, never mind," he snarled, his demeanor changing instantly. The patent Malfoy glare was back in force. "You may now go to dinner. I believe you will even be able to eat something."

Padma sighed, but rose. He would not tell her anything more, of that she was certain. In fact, she was shocked that he had told her this much. She moved towards the door, then paused. She turned back, only to be met with the sight of his back. "Um… thank you for telling me," she said at last. "I appreciate it."

He did not reply, and she sighed. Then, shaking her head, she opened the door and left the room, making her way down to the Great Hall, suddenly realizing that she was no longer very hungry.

8


End file.
